


Any Part of You

by dance_across



Series: Red, Yellow, Green [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Begging, Blow Jobs, But Our Boys Are Trying To Pin Them Down Anyway, Butt Plugs, Consensual Non-Consent, Consent Play, Crying, Cuddling, Dumb Messy Feelings That Are Hard To Pin Down, Edgeplay, Established Polyamorous Relationship, Explicit Consent, M/M, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, POV Yuuri, Polyamory Negotiations, Possessiveness, Post-Canon, Rough Sex, Safewords, Sappy Sex, Stupid Metaphors, Threesome - M/M/M, Vibrators, Wish Them Luck!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 07:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_across/pseuds/dance_across
Summary: Victor is still dead asleep, still draped over Yuuri’s body like one of those weighted blankets he had when he was a little kid, afraid of thunder. There is stickiness between his thighs, and Chris is nowhere to be seen.Which means he came back from the bathroom after they fell asleep, and then woke up earlier when morning came.Either that, or he never came back to bed at all.





	Any Part of You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [airspaniel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel) for reading this monstrosity sev'ral timez, and for the enormously helpful structural notes! You are, as always, The Best.
> 
> Thank you, too, to [neomeruru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru) for letting me borrow Phichit's nickname, and to [ineptshieldmaid](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid) for reading bits of first draft, many moons ago.
> 
> And thank you, most of all, to everyone who's been waiting for (mumble mumble) months for me to finish this story. I hope you like it!
> 
> For anyone who's new to this series: this story _can_ technically function as a stand-alone, but it does deal pretty heavily with events that happened in the first and second stories. You can read those [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/747696) if you like, but if you'd prefer not to, that's fine, too! Just consider yourself warned!
> 
>  **Content warning:** the tag "Consensual Non-Consent" exists here in conjunction with the "Rough Sex" tag. There is no actual coercion in this fic, but if these tags worry you, and you want a better idea of what you're in for before reading further, see end notes for details.

**Now**

The touch on Yuuri’s arm is feather-soft. It’s there, and it’s gone again—and then it’s back. And gone again. Over and over, just like that. It’s nice.

He says so, out loud.

Except that he’s not quite awake, and his brain and his mouth haven’t fallen into sync yet, so it comes out more like: “Snnnsssss.”

Quiet laughter greets the sound, and Yuuri gathers all the awakeness that he can. He opens his eyes, and he looks a little bit down and a little bit to the right, and there’s Victor. Kissing Yuuri’s arm, just below his shoulder, over and over again.

“Vitya,” he murmurs, and this time his mouth actually does it right.

Victor looks up. All the lights are off, but the curtains are open and there’s enough ambient light that Yuuri can see a flash of guilt in his husband’s blue, blue eyes.

“Sorry,” Victor says. “Didn’t mean to wake you up. You should go back to sleep. It was just… I couldn’t…”

Yuuri knows, by now, the ends of both of those sentences. _It was just that your arm was right there. I couldn’t help myself._ As if Yuuri, of the two of them, is somehow the irresistible one. Which is obviously ridiculous.

He turns onto his right side, scooting lower down on the mattress until he and Victor are properly face to face. He leans in and claims Victor’s lips with his own—and Victor, probably half-asleep himself, melts into Yuuri’s touch. They kiss, and Victor’s hand finds its way to Yuuri’s cheek, and they kiss, and Victor’s thumbnail traces a line down the side of Yuuri’s neck, and they kiss, and they kiss, and Victor is _his,_ and how in the world is this Yuuri’s life now?

“Go back to sleep,” Victor says. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“ _You_ were awake, though,” Yuuri says. “Something on your mind?”

Victor looks solemn and soft in the moonlight, all chiseled jawline and boyish cheeks and earnest eyes. He is dreamlike in his beauty. And he says, in a voice just above a whisper, “You. Just you.”

Heat sings through Yuuri’s chest, igniting something low in his belly. It’s late. It’s the middle of the night. Yuuri doesn’t have his glasses on, which means he can’t see much of anything besides Victor’s face.

“Me,” he says, trying not to sound as incredulous as he feels. It’s a little stupid, he thinks, to still feel incredulous about moments like this. But sometimes they honestly, honestly don’t feel real.

Victor’s hand moves from Yuuri’s neck to his arm, and then down to his hip, where it rests on the thin fabric of his shorts. The shorts are the only thing Yuuri is wearing. And when Victor arches his spine just so, just enough to press the length of his body against Yuuri’s, Yuuri is reminded that Victor isn’t wearing anything at all.

“Can I,” Victor begins, and leans in to kiss Yuuri’s lips. His chin, his cheek, his ear. “Can we…”

A rustle of sheets comes from the other side of the bed, in the shadowed space beyond Victor’s body. A rustle of sheets, the hiss of a quickly drawn-in breath, and a soft sigh. Yuuri knows the sounds well: it’s Chris, rolling over in his sleep.

“Can we what?” Yuuri asks, touching two fingertips to his husband’s impossibly beautiful cheek. “What can I give you?”

“You,” Victor says, squeezing at Yuuri’s hip. “I want… after last night, I woke up, wanting…”

Last night. Victor had been in a particularly submissive mood, and so Yuuri had put him to work servicing both himself and Chris. Victor had served them dinner and made sure their wine glasses were full. He’d massaged Chris’s shoulders and rubbed Yuuri’s feet. He’d put his head in Yuuri’s lap, puppy-like, as Chris scoured the internet for funny dog videos to show them. He’d sucked Chris off, and Yuuri had fucked him, and he ended the night boneless and happy, as he did more often than not when Chris visited.

“You were so good last night,” Yuuri whispers now, leaning in to kiss Victor’s nose. “You’re always so good. What did you wake up wanting?”

Victor licks his lips. Hesitates. Not one of his usual requests, then.

Yuuri moves his fingers across Victor’s cheek, over his temple, into his soft, fine hair. He waits patiently for an answer.

“I just want to feel you around me,” Victor finally says. “I just want to be in you.”

Yuuri’s breath catches on… on something about the phrasing, maybe, or something about the cadence of Victor’s sleep-soft voice, or just the fact that it’s the middle of the night and Yuuri had some wine before bed. But whatever the reason, the result is the same: love, quietly squeezing at his ribs, rendering him totally incapable of speech.

“Can I?” Victor kisses him again, again, again. “You don’t even have to do anything. I can do it all. I just want…”

“Of course,” Yuuri finally manages. “I’d love that. Just be careful of your knee, all right?”

This time, when Victor kisses him, it’s longer, deeper. Yuuri feels the silent _thank you_ in the movement of his lips.

As Victor gets up, presumably to find the lube, Yuuri looks over at the other side of the bed. Chris is on his back, his pillow bunched up under his neck, his face in profile. Yuuri thinks about waking him up. Inviting him to join them, or at least to watch. That’s what he’s here for, after all.

But the way Victor said _you,_ just now…

Even if Chris did wake up in the middle of things, it wouldn’t be the first time. Nor even the second. Yuuri himself has woken up on several occasions to find Chris and Victor kissing in bed beside him. That’s just how their relationship works. Chris visits for a few days or a few weeks, and they all lavish each other with love and sex and closeness in all kinds of configurations, and then he leaves again. It’s weird. But it works. For now.

And so Yuuri doesn’t feel guilty for not waking Chris up. And he stops thinking about it when Victor returns.

“Just lie back,” Victor says.

So Yuuri does. He rolls over onto his back, and he lifts his hips when Victor tugs at his shorts, and he feels cool air on his skin. Victor crouches between his legs, and Yuuri can’t see him properly, and he doesn’t want to ask for his glasses, so he closes his eyes and lets himself feel.

He feels it when Victor presses his face between his legs, mouth moving against Yuuri’s balls, nose nudging at the underside of Yuuri’s still-soft cock. He feels the rush of air as Victor inhales, and he feels himself stir—not just at the feeling of it, but the very _idea_ of Victor seeking out this part of Yuuri, reveling in it, breathing it in.

For one prolonged moment, that’s all Victor does. Just stays there, breathing in and out, in and out. Yuuri doesn’t say anything. Just reaches a hand down and strokes Victor’s hair. And waits.

“You smell good,” Victor murmurs, after maybe five minutes, maybe ten.

Yuuri, eyes still closed, smiles fondly into the darkness. “You’re a weirdo.”

“Mmhmm,” Victor agrees sleepily, and then lifts his face away from Yuuri’s skin. “I’m _your_ weirdo.”

“You certainly are,” says Yuuri, smiling at the ceiling.

“Relax for me,” says Victor.

The quiet pop of a cap coming off. The wet squelch that follows. And then, a finger on Yuuri’s skin, just behind his balls, searching, seeking.

Finding.

Yuuri breathes. He relaxes. This, too, comes more easily than it used to.

He sighs into the sensation of Victor’s index finger pushing its way inside him, pressing and stretching. There’s another finger, and eventually a third, and Yuuri spreads his legs almost unconsciously: just an instinctive reaction to the feeling of being opened. Victor peppers kisses up and down the insides of his thighs, and he slicks his fingers up again, and then there are four of them, and Yuuri still isn’t hard, but he’s halfway there.

And then, whispered: “How do you feel?”

“Mmm, ready,” Yuuri says lazily. “Come on. Get inside so you can kiss me again.”

Victor does kiss him, but it’s on his thigh. And then on his cock, which makes him gasp and laugh. And then the fingers withdraw, leaving him empty, and then—

“Yes,” Yuuri sighs, as the blunt head of Victor’s bare cock presses against him. “Vitya, yes.”

Victor sinks into him with a groan. It’s slow, and it’s careful and quiet: an incredible sensation that feels all the better for how _familiar_ it’s become. This is Victor, wanting to be surrounded and held and loved. This is Victor, wanting all these things _from Yuuri._

It’s still hard for Yuuri, sometimes, to wrap his mind around the magnitude of being wanted like this.

As soon as Victor is buried to the hilt inside Yuuri’s body, he tilts forward, stretching himself out atop Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri lifts his knees and wraps his calves around Victor’s back, angling his hips upward so that Victor won’t slip out by accident.

Victor kisses him, long and slow and deep, as he moves against Yuuri. He doesn’t thrust, and he doesn’t grind. Not yet. He just… moves. Shifting this way and that, maybe making sure he stays hard, maybe just trying to feel all the places where his skin is touching Yuuri’s. And Yuuri holds him, and he’s so glad that Victor doesn’t want to go any faster than this, because the faster they go, the sooner it will end.

“You’re so warm,” Victor whispers, his lips bare millimeters away from Yuuri’s.

“What can I give you?” Yuuri asks, for the second time that night. “What do you need?”

“Just,” Victor begins, and then buries his face in Yuuri’s neck. “I…”

Another sentence that Yuuri knows the ending of.

“I love you, too,” he says, right into Victor’s ear. “I love you so much.”

“So much,” Victor says, and a shudder courses through him, making his hips jerk, making his cock move deep inside Yuuri. “So, so much.”

Yuuri closes his eyes and holds Victor as tightly as he can. He could drown in this feeling. It would be so easy.

“Vitya,” he whispers.

Victor lifts his head, and there’s just enough light that Yuuri can see how wide his pupils are. How lost he already is.

“Yuuri,” he says, and starts, slowly, to fuck Yuuri in earnest.

The world narrows. There are only Victor’s eyes, shining with lust and love, and Victor’s hips, pumping slowly in and out of him. Yuuri’s only purpose is to be warm for Victor, and to hold him, and to love him. And to watch his face as he—

A rustling of sheets, louder and more deliberate this time. Yuuri jumps at the suddenness of it, and Victor goes still. They look over.

Chris is awake. And watching them.

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” he says with a sly grin, as he arranges himself under the sheets. He’s on his side, a catlike gleam in his eyes as they roam over Victor’s body, joined and entwined with Yuuri’s.

Yuuri feels the overwhelming urge to apologize, to explain that he thought about waking Chris up, to tell him the reasons he decided against it. But before he can arrange all the right words in the right order, Victor is moving inside him again, like the interruption never happened.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, a plea for Yuuri to meet his eyes again. So Yuuri does, and they are back to before, back to (Chris watching while they’re) drowning in each other, back to Victor staring and staring and looking like he might start to cry at any moment and (Chris is still watching; Yuuri can hear him breathing across the bed and) Victor says, “Yuuri. Yuuri. My love. My Yuuri.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispers (and Chris can hear him), and then, “Beautiful Vitya.”

(Does Chris think it’s weird, Victor fucking Yuuri instead of the other way around? He’s seen it both ways, by now, but nine times out of ten it’s Victor getting fucked. What is he thinking? What does Yuuri look like from where Chris is?)

“Hold me tighter,” Victor says (and Chris is listening), and Yuuri does. “Don’t let me go. Don’t ever—”

“Never, not ever,” whispers Yuuri, and Chris is _listening,_ but Yuuri can’t care about that. He can’t. Victor needs him. “I love you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, always.”

“My Yuuri,” Victor says, frantic, breathless. “Mine, mine, my…”

Yuuri leans up and kisses him. Chris is watching. Victor kisses him back, his cock pistoning in and out, driving himself again and again into Yuuri, until—

“I’m almost,” Victor pants. “Can I. Can I.”

“Inside me,” Yuuri tells him, digging his fingernails into Victor’s back. “I love you. Come inside me.”

“Please, please,” Victor practically sobs. “I… I love…”

A rustling of sheets. A shifting of weight on the bed. And in the corner of his eye, Yuuri sees Chris padding lightly toward the bedroom door. Does he have to use the bathroom? It must be urgent; it’s not like him to leave the room when the alternative is watching one of his partners fuck the other one.

“Yuuri?” Victor says, and guilt curls through Yuuri’s stomach. He’d looked away. He was watching Chris, thinking about Chris, when Victor was waiting in his arms, warm and wild-eyed and needy…

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Yuuri says, leaning up to give him another kiss. “I’m here for you.”

“Okay,” Victor pants. He is close. So close. Yuuri can tell. “Okay, I know, I just…”

 _I just need you so much._ Or maybe, _I just love you so much._

Either way: “Me too,” says Yuuri. “Me too.”

“Yuuri…”

“Come for me, love,” Yuuri whispers. “I’ve got you. Come for me.”

Victor does. He comes with his eyes open and a deep, guttural moan in his throat, and Yuuri can feel the spill of him, inside.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, as Victor lets himself collapse onto Yuuri’s chest. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“Mm,” says Victor, and buries his face in Yuuri’s neck again.

They stay there, chest to chest, skin to skin, until Yuuri feels himself starting to doze off again. But—

“Let me up?” he says gently. “I should clean off.”

“In the morning,” Victor murmurs, and then adds, by way of explanation, “You’re warm.”

Yuuri can feel Victor softening inside him. He can feel his own cock, still half hard, trapped pleasantly between their bodies. Victor shifts in his arms, snuggling closer, and Yuuri has no desire to move. So he hums his assent into Victor’s ear, and he lets himself stop worrying.

The next thing he knows, it’s morning. Victor is still dead asleep, still draped over Yuuri’s body like one of those weighted blankets he had when he was a little kid, afraid of thunder. There is stickiness between his thighs, and Chris is nowhere to be seen.

Which means he came back from the bathroom after they fell asleep, and then woke up earlier when morning came.

Either that, or he never came back to bed at all.

-

**Six Months Ago**

Phichit’s call came in the middle of the day. Which wouldn’t have been unusual, except that Phichit was staying in the same hotel as Yuuri and Victor, just two floors down, and he could’ve just as easily come up and knocked on Yuuri’s door.

Maybe that was why apprehension curdled in Yuuri’s gut as he picked up. He tried to quiet it; after all, Phichit was probably just going to ask _yet again_ which tie he should wear to the banquet later. Yuuri had already voted for the blue one with gold stripes, because of Phichit’s gold medal, and he picked up the phone, ready to say that he hadn’t changed his mind.

“Hello?”

“Yuuri, okay, hi,” Phichit said, sounding flustered. “Is Victor there?”

Yuuri frowned. “No, he isn’t supposed to be back until—”

“Good,” Phichit said. “Then I’m coming up.” A pause. “Wait, no. You’d better come down. Just in case.”

And he hung up before Yuuri could ask the obvious: _Just in case of what?_

A few long minutes later, Phichit opened the door to Yuuri’s knock. His jaw was set, and his expression was murderous. Yuuri had never seen him like this before. Not once.

“Sit,” Phichit said, and pointed to his bed.

Yuuri sat.

“Listen. Okay. I just…” Phichit was pacing, hands fisted. His shoulders were so tense that Yuuri’s began to tense in sympathy. “Okay, there’s no way to just _ease into this,_ so I’m just gonna… I’m just…” He stopped then, turning his body so that he was squarely facing Yuuri. “Yuuri, I saw Victor and Chris kissing in the hallway.”

“In the _hallway?”_ Yuuri echoed, because that was… they’d have to have a talk about that. All three of them. They couldn’t just go around kissing where anyone could see. What if it hadn’t been Phichit? What if it had been someone like… well, like Yurio? Or JJ? Or some fan with a camera at the ready?

“That’s—Yuuri, that’s not the important part?” Phichit said. “They were kissing. Chris and I have talked about stuff like that, but Victor’s your _husband,_ which is _very different,_ and—”

“No, I know, it’s fine,” Yuuri said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

But then he got it. Phichit didn’t know. This wasn’t about the location of the kissing. This was about the kissing itself. Yuuri did a quick mental rewind.

Before he could explain, though, Phichit had already begun talking, his voice going high-pitched with rage: “It’s _fine?_ In what universe is that even close to being fine? He’s your husband. _Yours._ I could murder him, I swear—”

“Phichit, hold on,” Yuuri said. “I said it’s fine. Just… trust me, okay? They’re… it’s… um. They’re allowed.”

He regretted the word choice almost immediately. _Allowed._ Like Yuuri somehow had the right to dictate what Victor could or couldn’t do with his time, or his body, or his heart. It wasn’t like that at all. They’d talked about it. All of them. They’d _agreed_ on things. Rules and boundaries and all the rest. It wasn’t a matter of being allowed.

“Wait, really?” said Phichit. “They’re—hold on, what else are they allowed to do?”

His eyes were as round as moons, and his face had shifted from murderous to—well, to _ravenous._ This was the Phichit that Yuuri knew best. Curious to a fault. Hungry for other people’s secrets.

A grin tugged at Yuuri’s mouth, and he ducked his head a little. “Lots of things,” he said. “They’re… we’re all, the three of us, ah…”

It took a second, but Phichit put the pieces together. And when he did, he literally jumped into the air, clapping his hands like a little kid. “Yuuri! Oh my god, _Yuuri!_ My beautiful son, I am _so proud of you!”_

“Will you stop calling me—”

“You’re having threesomes with two of the four hottest men in the entire world,” Phichit said. “I’ll call you whatever I want.”

“But you—Wait. Two of the four? Who are the other two?”

Phichit pointed solemnly to Yuuri. Then, just as solemnly, to himself.

Yuuri laughed. “Sure, okay.” Then, just as quickly, he stopped laughing. Because something had just clicked. “Wait.”

“Waiting,” said Phichit.

“You said…” Yuuri narrowed his eyes at his best friend. “You said you and Chris have talked about stuff like this.”

Phichit’s eyes grew wide and innocent. Exaggeratedly so. “Did I?”

Yuuri knows, then, without a doubt. And he’s actually kind of impressed. He knew Chris had an absurd amount of lovers—well, absurd by Yuuri’s personal standards, at least—and he’d trusted from the beginning that Chris would be discreet. But there was discreet, and then there was _this._

“Phichit,” Yuuri said, as a grin stole over his face.

“Mmm?”

“Sit down right now, and tell me _everything.”_

So Phichit did.

-

**Now**

The smell of coffee wafts into the bedroom, and that’s what finally motivates Yuuri to dig himself out from underneath his husband. Coffee. He _needs_ coffee. And food. Probably Victor needs those things, too.

“Hey,” Yuuri whispers, reaching up and around to stroke Victor’s back. “Vitya.”

“Mmmmno,” says Victor. He tries to snuggle closer to Yuuri, but fails because closer is literally impossible, and so buries his face in Yuuri’s shoulder instead. It’s sort of exasperating, but mostly it’s painfully sweet.

But even so: “Chris made coffee for us, love. Smell that?”

Victor inhales deeply. “I smell _you,”_ he murmurs, without opening his eyes.

Yuuri can smell himself, too, unfortunately. It’s the kind of smell that’s perfectly fine in the heat of the moment, but doesn’t age well. Especially overnight. He needs a shower. They both do. But Yuuri knows from experience that saying this will only make Victor cling tighter.

So instead, Yuuri pulls out the big guns: “You need to get off me, sweetheart. I really have to pee.”

And Victor, who would die rather than deliberately let Yuuri experience a single moment of discomfort, is off him in the blink of an eye. His hair is mussed with sleep, and he’s squinting a little, like his eyes are still adjusting to the concept of being awake. He sits back on his heels, then winces and rearranges himself so his legs are crossed in front of him. His knee surgery was a few months ago, now, but he still has to be careful.

Yuuri gets up and darts into their en suite bathroom. And unlike Victor, who rarely ever bothers, he shuts the door before he pees and brushes his teeth. He considers a towel, but opts instead for giving himself a quick rinse in the shower. Then, as Yuuri pulls on some shorts and a shirt, it’s Victor’s turn.

“Pants?” Yuuri asks, when Victor emerges.

Victor puts on a thong.

Yuuri rolls his eyes—and smiles, too, because he can’t help it. He doesn’t start the Thongs Are Not Pants argument again, though. It’s warm enough in their apartment. And it’s not like Chris will mind.

With Victor trailing behind him, Yuuri follows the coffee smell down the hallway, through the living room, and into the kitchen. Sure enough, perched on one of the stools at the counter is Chris, bespectacled and wrapped in that silk bathrobe of his. He’s got an enormous book in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He looks like he’s showered already. Which is totally possible. They do have a very nice guest bath.

“Hi,” says Yuuri.

Chris, apparently engrossed in his book, startles. He blinks. “Hey there, lovebirds.” Then, a beat too late, he smiles.

Yuuri feels it squarely in the center of his chest: Something is wrong.

Victor, apparently oblivious, heads straight for the coffee pot and begins pouring. Black coffee for himself, light and sweet for Yuuri.

“How’re you doing?” Yuuri asks, easing himself across the space separating him from Chris. Feeling stupid even as he does it. This is his apartment. His and Victor’s. He shouldn’t have to tiptoe here.

“Fine.” Chris dog-ears the page he’s on, closes the book, and sets it on the counter. It’s in French; Yuuri doesn’t know enough French to understand the title. “You?”

“Fine, um…”

No, this is _stupid_. Chris is not fine, and Chris not being fine means Yuuri isn’t fine, either. Chris obviously isn’t going to say anything, and Victor is over there humming to himself as he gets the milk out of the refrigerator, and so the choice is Yuuri’s. Say something now, or let it go until whatever-it-is takes root inside Yuuri’s chest, growing and metastasizing until the conversation looms so large that it seems impossible to have.

It’s not really a choice at all, of course.

So Yuuri takes a deep breath and goes right for what he strongly suspects is at the heart of the matter: “You didn’t come back to bed last night.”

“Nope,” says Chris, and sips from his mug.

Yuuri clenches his abdomen and makes himself ask, “Why not? Everything okay?”

The question is vague enough that Chris has an out, if he wants one. He can easily say, _I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the living room to read and fell asleep there._ Or maybe, _I felt like spreading out, and there’s more room in the guest bed_ —or even, _I thought you guys might want some time alone._

But he says none of those things. Instead, he puts his mug down and asks, “You really want to do this now? You haven’t even had coffee yet.”

Yuuri’s lungs tighten. _Do this now._ Meaning that there’s a _this_ to do. Across the kitchen, Victor pauses and turns around, brows drawn together.

Another deep breath. Then another. Then Yuuri says, firmly, “We have to be honest with each other about how we’re feeling. Or this whole thing—the three of us, together—won’t work.”

Chris glances at Victor, then looks back at Yuuri. Victor shoves the milk back in the fridge and hurries back to Yuuri, mugs in hand. Yuuri takes his coffee and clutches it, waiting.

Finally, Chris says, “It’s not a big deal or anything.”

“Great,” Victor says, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Then we can talk about it and then go out for breakfast. I’m starving.”

Chris smiles again, tentative this time, but a little more real. “Well. Okay.” He blows out a breath, and pushes his wire-framed glasses up his nose. Chris always looks a little bit softer when he’s wearing glasses instead of contacts. A little more vulnerable. “So, first of all, I know you two are the… you know. The married ones. And I know you have boundaries, and I totally respect them…”

“But?” Victor prompts.

 _But._ Yuuri is ninety-five percent sure that he knows what’s coming next. Guilt is already coiling inside him; he was the one, after all, who decided not to wake Chris up.

“But last night. When I was asleep one second, then the next second I was wide awake and”—here, his smile becomes a smirk—“you were balls-deep in Yuuri’s ass and asking if you could come inside him.”

Yuuri chokes on a laugh. Leave it to Chris to dial up the blunt lewdness this early in the morning.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Chris continues, adding a little eyebrow-waggle to his smirk. “You _know_ how much I love a private show. Especially a surprise one.”

“But?” Victor asks again.

Chris’s smirk fades, and Yuuri is already formulating his response. An apology, and a promise to wake him up next time. The words are on the tip of his tongue, ready to go.

Chris shrugs. “But I felt left out. See? Told you it wasn’t a big deal.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says in a rush. “I know I should’ve woken you up as soon as things got started. I’m not sure why I didn’t, but I’m sorry. I will next time, though—”

“It’s not that,” Chris says. “I told you. It was a nice surprise. I just…”

“Wanted to join in?” Victor asks, head tilted. His trying-to-understand pose.

“Well. Yes—”

“You could have,” Victor says earnestly. “You know you can always ask, right? When you’re here?”

Yuuri thinks maybe it isn’t about the asking. Maybe Chris doesn’t want to _have_ to ask. But before he can figure out how to put this theory into words, Chris is saying, “No, I couldn’t. We made rules. Two rules. Yuuri’s feet are off-limits, and I can’t fuck either of you.”

“Oh,” Victor says.

“Or be fucked,” Chris adds. “By either of you. So I guess it’s three rules.”

 _“Oh,”_ Yuuri says. He got it wrong. He wasn’t expecting this at all—though, in hindsight, maybe he should have been.

“And it’s not like we have to do anything about it.” Chris’s knuckles are white where he’s clutching the handle of his mug, but his face is aggressively calm. “We don’t. But you asked what was up, and that’s it. So hey, look at me, talking about my feelings like a responsible adult. Aren’t you proud of me?”

It’s clearly supposed to be a joke, but it falls flat. The room is quiet. And once again, Yuuri knows it’s up to him to ask: “Should we talk about this, do you think?”

“We… could,” Chris says carefully, and Yuuri can hear the cautious hope in his voice.

Victor flicks his gaze between the two of them, and says nothing.

Chris swallows; Yuuri can see his Adam’s apple bob. “Maybe,” he says slowly, “I could run out to the store. We’re almost out of coffee. I could get more.”

 _And give you two a chance to talk things over first,_ he doesn’t add. But Yuuri still hears it, loud and clear.

“Milk, too,” says Victor, with a tiny, grateful smile. “We could use some more milk.”

-

**Five Months Ago**

“Oh, it was great,” Phichit gushed, when Yuuri finally asked. “He took me to his favorite clubs. Second night I was there, I borrowed an outfit from him, and he let me do his makeup, and—oh! I met one of his other boys!”

“One of his boys?” Yuuri smiled, charmed despite himself by the choice of phrase.

“You know,” Phichit said, “Chris sleeps with a lot of people. His boys. And… I think there are girls, too? Maybe?”

“No idea,” said Yuuri, who knew very little about Chris’s other lovers, apart from the fact that (a) they existed, and (b) Chris said he was safe with every one of them, and Yuuri believed him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Phichit. “This guy, Ravi? _Yum._ I mean, Yuuri, we’re talking ass. We’re talking cheekbones. We’re talking _such_ good hair, and _such_ a talented tongue, I mean, oh my _god—”_

“Tongue?” said Yuuri, trying his best to keep up. He paused to turn off the sink. Some people, you could talk on the phone with them and do the dishes at the same time. Phichit… well, Yuuri really should’ve known better by now. “You hooked up with him?”

“Yup!” Phichit said. “I mean, just kissing. But if that counts, then yes. And it should count. It counts for Chris. All they do is kiss and, like, cuddle and stuff. Ravi’s not allowed to do more than that with other people. Neither’s his wife. Oh, he’s married—should’ve mentioned that. That’s relevant. But yeah, kissing. That’s about it. He’s so good at it, though. Chris looked like he was gonna get off just from _watching_ us, which, wow, that would’ve been hot, and…”

Yuuri’s face grows hot as Phichit recounts, in graphic and lurid detail, everything he and Chris did together later that night. _Everything._ And… and the thing is, Yuuri really should be used to it, by now. He was roommates with Phichit for two whole years, back in college. He heard stories like this all the time. Detailed to the point of obscenity, told in a rushed and gleeful voice. This was different, though.

This, for the first time, was someone that Yuuri was sleeping with, too.

And it wasn’t that Yuuri was jealous, or even protective. And he knew Chris was fine with Phichit telling stories. Phichit had told him so. It was more like…

Well, Yuuri didn’t know _what_ it was. Something not quite embarrassment and not quite arousal. Not quite in the middle, either. More like the third point of the embarrassment/arousal triangle. If that was a thing. It probably wasn’t a thing.

“…and then we made out like horny teenagers when he dropped me at the airport. People were staring. It was so great. And the flight kind of sucked, but all flights kind of suck, and I landed this morning, and here we are! It’s gonna be _rough_ getting back into the real world.”

Yuuri smiled. “After spending a whole week in Geneva with Chris? Yeah, being apart’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“Being apart?” Phichit sounded genuinely confused—then he let out a laugh. “Oh! No, that’s not—What I mean is I start classes again tomorrow, and I am jet-lagged as fuuuuuuck.”

“Oh,” said Yuuri, slightly surprised. Until he thinks about it, at least. He tended to treat his time with Chris the same way, after all: like a vacation from the real world, even when they were right there in Yuuri’s apartment. He enjoyed it thoroughly and whole-heartedly, but he never had any real sense of loss after Chris left.

“Not that I don’t miss him,” added Phichit, with feeling. “I do. We’re already planning the next time we can hook up. It’s just… we’re not… you know.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said. “I know.”

-

**Now**

Victor, by now wrapped in a bathrobe, pours himself a third cup of coffee.

“Slow down,” Yuuri says, wrapping his arms around his husband from behind. Pressing his cheek into Victor’s silk-covered shoulder, he adds, “You haven’t eaten anything. You’ll get the jitters.”

“I’m not awake yet,” Victor mutters, and takes a sip. “Ahh, still too hot. But I need to be awake for this.”

Yuuri presses a kiss to the back of Victor’s neck, and lets him go again. “It’s just us talking,” he says with a smile. “We do plenty of that half-asleep.”

Victor turns around. He looks genuinely worried. “Sure, but that’s usually stuff about… well, like you said. Just us. If we’re about to tell Chris something he doesn’t want to hear, I want to at least be _thoughtful_ about it. You know?”

“Sure, but—” All at once, Yuuri’s attention refocuses from forthcoming caffeine jitters to what Victor just said. “Wait. Something he doesn’t want to hear?”

There’s a trace of pity in Victor’s smile. “I don’t like disappointing him. He’s been my best friend for, what, a decade and a half? And I know he said we don’t have to do anything about it, but… I mean, you saw him, same as I did. He clearly _wants_ to do something about it.” He gives a small one-shouldered shrug. “I just feel bad. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, blinking and blinking as he pushes his glasses up his nose. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—maybe a debate? a discussion about pros and cons, both logical and emotional? maybe list-making?—but it wasn’t this. “You don’t want to, then.”

Pursing his lips like a defiant child, Victor shakes his head no in small, quick movements. Then, all at once, he stops. His eyes widen. “Do _you_ want to?”

“I don’t know, I mean, not necessarily?” The words spill over each other in their haste to escape Yuuri’s mouth before Victor’s expression turns from surprise into… into anger, or sadness, or hurt, or whatever’s coming next. Yuuri doesn’t want to be the cause of Victor feeling any of those things. Not ever. “I just thought we could talk and, I don’t know, but if you really don’t want to, we don’t have to, it’s just—”

“Hey,” Victor says, putting his coffee down on the counter. “Hey, shh, it’s okay,” he adds, wrapping his arms around Yuuri. Which is when Yuuri realizes three things. First: he was babbling, just now. Second: his heart is probably beating fast enough to run a marathon. Third: he’s shaking.

Yuuri lets himself melt into his husband’s arms, lets Victor rub soothing circles into his back. He forces himself to breathe deeply, steadily, in and out against the silk of the robe, until his body finally takes the hint and calms the fuck down.

“I’m not mad,” Victor says gently, after a few moments have passed, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t,” Yuuri says, adjusting his glasses again as he pulls away. The shaking has stopped, at least. “Or, I guess, I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, I’m not,” Victor says with a smile. “I promise I’m not. And if you want to talk about it, then let’s talk.”

“We don’t even have to do it now,” Yuuri offers. “It’s not like there’s a deadline. He’s visiting again next month.”

“Sure, but…” Victor trails off with a shrug.

Yuuri knows how _he_ would end that sentence. _Sure, but it came up today, so why not deal with it today?_ Hopefully, that’s also what Victor’s getting at.

So Yuuri forges ahead: “It’s just that we haven’t talked about any of those rules since that first night. Or, well, the morning after that first night, I guess. We’re probably overdue for, like, checking in with each other.”

Victor’s face softens into a smile. “So smart,” he says, and leans in to kiss Yuuri’s forehead. “You’re always so smart.”

“Not always,” Yuuri murmurs. If he were smarter, he might’ve done better, earlier, at guessing what Chris was going to say. If he were smarter, he might’ve anticipated Victor’s reaction.

He picks up his mug, still mostly full of the first cup that Victor fixed for him, and heads for the living room. Trailing behind him, Victor says, “No, pretty much always.”

Victor sits first, claiming his usual spot in the corner of the couch and opening his right arm wide, creating a space for Yuuri, however he chooses to take it. So Yuuri slots himself against Victor’s side, feeling the warmth of his husband’s arm around his shoulders, rubbing in soothing little circles. For a moment they just sit like that, sipping out of their mugs. Victor slurps a little, like he always does with hot drinks. Yuuri would probably think it was annoying, if it were anyone else. But it’s Victor, so he doesn’t.

Slurp. Slurp. And then, after a while, “It’s just that I like having a line that we don’t cross. Something that’s just for us.” Victor’s voice is soft, intimate. He hardly ever uses this voice when Chris is there with them. Only when it’s him and Yuuri, alone.

“I get that.” Yuuri takes another sip of his coffee. The silk of Victor’s robe is smooth against his cheek. “Although… when we were talking rules, after that first night, you said—how did you put it?”

Victor makes a thoughtful, rumbling _hmm_ noise that vibrates through his body and into Yuuri’s.

“I mean, the exact phrasing doesn’t matter,” Yuuri says, even though he feels like it _might_ matter. “But it was something like… you didn’t want to watch me being intimate like that with anyone else. As in, um… as in, the rule was specifically about him and _me.”_

And that was the thing. Somewhere along the way, they had all tacitly agreed that it also applied to Victor. But none of them had ever actually said so.

This time, the noise that Victor makes has a worried edge.

“So, I guess…” Yuuri takes a deep breath and steels himself. Tries to draw strength from Victor’s arm, still warm and solid and loving around him. “I guess that means two questions, right? First, do you still feel that way? And second—”

“How do I feel about _me_ and Chris,” Victor finishes. “That’s the second question, right?”

“I… yeah.”

Victor pulls away, then, just far enough that he can meet Yuuri’s gaze. There’s something worrying in his eyes. He says, “How do _you_ feel about me and Chris?”

The moment is charged, suddenly. Yuuri doesn’t know what Victor wants the answer to be.

More than that, Yuuri actually doesn’t know what the answer _is._ Not because he’s never thought about Victor and Chris together. He has; of course he has. In heady, adrenaline-fueled moments like… like a few months ago, or whenever it was that Chris had Victor by the hair, and was rutting against his hip, and hissed into his ear, “I would give it to you _so hard,_ if I could. I’d make you cry, you’d be bruised all over, you wouldn’t be able to walk right for _days.”_

“Yes, yes, yes,” Victor replied, breathless, lost in the moment. And Yuuri, who’d orchestrated the whole thing and was watching with extreme interest, very nearly told him to go ahead and do it.

He didn’t, of course. He wouldn’t. Because they had rules, and he would never betray Victor’s trust by changing the rules right in the middle of… things. But he _thought_ about it.

He also thinks about it when he can’t sleep, sometimes. Victor and Chris, becoming closer than they already are. It would be strange. But it might help.

It might help with a lot of things.

“Yuuri?” Victor prompts, still waiting for an answer.

“I…” Yuuri breathes. He breathes. “I would want to be there. For the first time, at least. Maybe every time. I’m not sure yet.”

Victor gives him a brittle smile. “So you’d be fine with it.”

Yuuri knows for certain, then, that he’s said something wrong. Carefully, ever so carefully, he says, “Do you want me to _not_ be fine with it?”

“No, it’s,” Victor begins, and then stops and shakes his head. “If that’s how you feel…”

Yuuri knows the ends of both of those sentences. _No, it’s fine. If that’s how you feel, it’s okay._ He also knows they are both lies.

“Vitya,” he says. “Talk to me. What’s going on?” And then, when Victor frowns into his coffee and doesn’t reply away, he adds, “I’m not trying to pressure you into anything. We can tell Chris no. That can be the end of it. I just thought it might be good to talk it out first. But if—”

“No, talking’s good,” Victor says. “I just thought…”

 _I just thought you’d say something different,_ is the end of that one.

Yuuri turns himself so he’s sideways on the couch. He wants to have a clear view of Victor’s face.

“What did you want me to tell you, just now? Vitya?”

“I wanted you to tell me the _truth,_ obviously,” Victor snaps.

Yuuri is losing patience. Fast. “Well, I did, and you’re clearly not okay with it. So try again.”

“I’m _clearly_ —?” Victor cuts a glare at Yuuri, obviously riled up. Yuuri braces himself for a fight. But just as quickly as it arrived, the anger is gone again from Victor’s eyes. He breathes out, slow. “Sorry. You’re right. Obviously you’re right.”

Yuuri leans over to drop a kiss on Victor’s silk-covered shoulder: a silent thank-you for stopping the fight before it got started. And then he waits, watching Victor’s profile as he calms himself down.

Victor takes another long sip of coffee, and then presses his lips together, clearly thinking. Finally, in a tone of voice far more normal than before, he says, “Your first question. Yes, I do still feel that way. About you and Chris, together like that. I don’t want you to.” He glances at Yuuri again. “Is that okay?”

“Totally okay,” says Yuuri, and he’s about to move past that, back to the second question, when something occurs to him. Maybe it’s nothing. But maybe, if his hunch is right…

“Mind if I ask why?”

Victor looks at him, alarmed.

“I’m just curious,” Yuuri says quickly. “It’s really fine with me, and whatever you say won’t change that. I mean… okay, so you said you like having a line that we don’t cross. Why that? Why is that the line?”

“Why that?” A little crinkle of confusion appears between Victor’s brows. “You mean, as opposed to, like… if we said that you and Chris can do everything except suck each other off?”

“Or whatever else,” says Yuuri. “Yeah.”

The crinkle becomes deeper. “I mean. Isn’t it obvious?”

Yuuri supposes that it is, from a certain angle. Fucking, the kind they’re talking about, is so often held up as some sort of pinnacle of intimacy. Like if you’ve done everything but that, you haven’t _really_ had sex with somebody. But he’s never really understood why. Sure, it’s incredibly intimate, but so is swallowing someone’s come. So is letting someone put their mouth all over the parts of you that nobody else has ever even seen.

So is telling someone that you love them, and falling asleep with your nose in their hair.

What Yuuri ends up saying is, “It’s obvious in theory, I guess.”

“Not in practice?” Victor sounds hurt.

“In practice, it’s… I mean, how is it different from everything else we do?” Yuuri asks. “And I don’t mean that—what’s the word—rhetorically. I’m really asking. Is it different for you? Fucking me? Versus everything else? Or me-fucking-you versus everything else?”

Victor’s eyes widen. “Well… _yes?”_

“Oh,” Yuuri says. “Okay.”

Victor stares.

Yuuri says, “Um.”

Victor says, “Is it… not? For you?” His voice is very small.

How to salvage this? Yuuri is on the brink of something, here. This is a moment that could easily end in disaster—but if he finds exactly the right words, and if Victor _understands him,_ then…

“It’s… it’s more like…” Yuuri is stuttering. Oh, yeah, this is going great. He makes himself breathe. Once, twice. “Okay, so, for me… see, you were my first. Not just the first person I ever, you know, fucked, but… well, you were my first _everything._ Well, almost everything. You know that. There’s a whole list of things I never did before I did them with you—and… _that?_ The fucking-each-other thing? It’s special between us. It is. But so’s everything else. For me, anyway.”

Yuuri lets his hand creep over to rest on Victor’s thigh. Victor lets him; his expression is softer, now. He’s listening.

“So,” Yuuri continues, “I guess… I guess that’s why I don’t draw a line there. And I’m curious about why you do.”

Victor nods, slowly. Gone is the hurt expression from a moment ago; long gone is the combative one from before that. Now, he just looks pensive. Which is good. This is good.

Finally, after a quiet moment, he says, “I don’t know if there’s a reason. Does there have to be a reason?”

“I guess not,” Yuuri says. “Or maybe your reason is just that that’s how you feel?”

“Yeah,” Victor says, nodding and nodding. “Yeah. I’m just wondering, I guess, if…” He pauses and straightens himself up, but keeps looking at his own lap instead of at Yuuri.

Yuuri doesn’t know the end of this sentence. He waits.

“Isn’t there any part of me,” Victor says carefully, “that you want to keep for yourself?”

All at once, Yuuri is back on that sidewalk in Paris, nine months ago. Listening as Victor, uncharacteristically nervous, stumbled through an explanation of the fantasy that had seized him in the club and refused to let go. It involved Yuuri and Chris, together. It involved Victor, sidelined, relegated to watching and not touching.

 _I don’t want you to think I’m trying to give you away,_ Victor said, back then. Or something like it. As though Yuuri might hear his role in this fantasy, and come away thinking that Victor thought less of him. Cared less for him.

Now, finally, Yuuri thinks he’s beginning to understand why Victor was so afraid, that night.

And why Victor seems afraid again now.

“Oh, love,” Yuuri says. “Come here.”

He opens his arms, and that’s all Victor needs; he sways sideways, curling into Yuuri, his head in Yuuri’s lap, his fingers clutching at Yuuri’s leg. He isn’t crying or anything, but he’s obviously overwhelmed. Which isn’t surprising. Weeks like this, when Chris is here, always tend to bring out Victor’s needier side.

Yuuri doesn’t mind. In fact, Yuuri loves caring for his husband in moments like this, when he’s too wrung out to show anything but the truest part of himself. When any lingering trace of Victor Nikiforov, Six-Time World Champion, Two-Time Sexiest Man Alive, One-Time Taker Of An Actual Selfie With Actual Beyoncé has been scraped away, leaving only Victor in its wake. Only Vitya. Yuuri’s husband.

Vitya, Yuuri’s husband, who deserves an answer to his question. If only Yuuri had one to give him.

Yuuri runs his fingers through the fine strands of Victor’s silvery hair. His nails scrape lightly at Victor’s scalp, which elicits a little hum of pleasure. Victor snuggles deeper into Yuuri’s lap, his nose nudging at the curve of Yuuri’s calf. His breathing starts to slow.

With one hand still stroking Victor’s hair, Yuuri rubs the other over Victor’s shoulder. Down his arm, then up his back. He pauses to let his fingers explore the contours of muscle beneath silk, to trace the familiar planes and valleys of Victor’s body. Thin rays of sunlight are starting to peek around the edges of the curtains, and everything is quiet.

 _This,_ Yuuri thinks. _This is the part of you that I want to keep for myself._ But he isn’t sure if it would make any sense outside the safety of his own head, so he doesn’t say it aloud. He just keeps stroking Victor’s back, and his head, and the exquisite curve of his jaw, and the strangely vulnerable line of his neck.

“We could try it.” Victor’s voice is half-muffled by Yuuri’s sweatpants, and far more relaxed than a moment ago. “Me and Chris.”

“We don’t have to,” Yuuri replies. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“That’s the problem,” Victor says. “I have no idea if I want to.”

“So we’ll take more time.” Yuuri brushes a lock of snow-bright hair away from Victor’s forehead. “I know he’s leaving tomorrow, but he’ll be back soon. That way you can think about it as long as you need—”

“No,” Victor says, and Yuuri feels tension in him again. “That won’t… it’s not…”

 _That won’t help,_ Yuuri guesses. _It’s not about having more time._

Sure enough: “I won’t know if it feels right until I actually do it. You know? With most people, it’d be easy to know. But Chris is…”

“Chris is Chris,” Yuuri supplies.

“Yeah,” says Victor. “And I think, if we… _oh._ Oh, _wait.”_

He sits up so abruptly that he almost loses his balance in the process. His lips press together in a very specific way, and his eyes are slightly unfocused. Yuuri knows this look. It’s the same look he gets when he’s come up with a new idea for a step sequence, but hasn’t yet figured out how to break it down into its basic components. It’s the same look he had that night in Paris.

Yuuri feels a smile creeping across his face. “Vitya? Is there something you want us to try?”

Victor’s eyes snap back into focus, glimmering and glinting with intention. He nods. “A scene. Or, well, more of a game. Or whatever you want to call it.”

“Tell me,” Yuuri says.

-

**Four Months Ago**

Phichit held the camera out in front of him and spun slowly around, giving Yuuri the fullest possible view of his former campus, in all its snow-covered glory. “Be honest. You totally miss this.” Phichit was grinning when his face came back into focus. He wore a hat with a pom-pom on top.

“Not at _all,”_ said Yuuri, meaning it. “I will forever be grateful that I finished my degree before I retired.”

“Yeah,” said Phichit. “And I will forever be mad at you. Or jealous of you.” The camera jiggled, and Yuuri could see the top few slats of a bench behind Phichit now. “I still don’t know if this was a good idea.”

He’d been saying this for weeks. Maybe even months. And Yuuri was sympathetic; going back to school after so many years of absence, to finish a degree while surrounded by twenty-two-year-olds? It sounded like hell.

“I don’t even know if I’m _into_ psych anymore,” Phichit continued, “plus everyone is _so much younger_ than me.” He paused. Tilted his head a little. A smile ghosted over his lips. “Well, almost everyone. There’s this one person.”

Yuuri grinned at the screen. With Phichit, there was nearly always this one person. “Spill,” he ordered.

“Well, their name is Morgan, and they’re from New Mexico.” Phichit’s eyes went a little bit dreamy, the way they always did when he had a new crush. “Psych major, my age, put off university for a few years to take care of their dad.”

“Hot?” Yuuri asked.

“ _So_ hot,” Phichit said. “And super tall. Like a sexy tree.”

“Have you made out with them yet?”

“Who the hell do you think I am?” Phichit asked. “Obviously we’ve made out.” His eyebrows waggle. “Repeatedly. _Frequently.”_

“Ooh,” said Yuuri.

Then, all at once, Phichit’s dreamy-eyed grin started to fade. “It’s just… I don’t know. They’re so amped up to start their career—you know, their _first_ career—and I just finished mine.”

“With a gold medal at your last competition,” Yuuri reminded him.

“Damn right,” Phichit said. “But… still. I guess I take it back. Being the same age doesn’t mean shit.”

“Yeah,” said Yuuri. “I get that.”

Phichit visibly pulled himself together. “It’s fine. It really is. I mean, at least I’ve got Chris to talk about all this stuff with.”

“And me,” Yuuri said, trying not to feel hurt.

“Well, sure,” said Phichit. “Always you! But you’re in a different place, you know? You’re all settled and stuff. You’ve got _students_ lined up for next season.”

This was true. In less than a year, he and Victor, as a team, were taking on not one but two students. Yuuri was going to coach; Victor was going to choreograph. Hopefully, it would not go down in horrific, embarrassing flames.

“That’s fair,” Yuuri conceded.

“But Chris,” Phichit said. “He doesn’t know what he wants to do, any more than I do. It’s kind of nice. You know. Being on the same page like that. Two aimless, retired athletes with great asses and no job prospects.”

Yuuri frowned. As far as he’d been told, Chris knew _exactly_ what he wanted to do with his post-retirement life. He’d been doing it for two years already: traveling the world, playing tourist, playing party-boy, booking modeling work with whoever would hire him, hooking up with as many beautiful people as he could.

“Job prospects?” Yuuri said. “Chris wants job prospects?”

Phichit shrugged. “He’s been thinking about it. Says the modeling thing can’t last forever.”

“He hasn’t mentioned anything to me,” Yuuri said.

Phichit smiled kindly. “Well, can you blame him? You’re set for life, friend. You’re all _adult_ and _domestic_ and, you know, one half of the world’s most power-couple-y power couple. _Obviously_ he doesn’t want to talk about that stuff with you. Or probably even Victor.”

Domestic? Yeah, maybe. But _adult?_ Chris was two years older than him. Although, it was like Phichit had just said. Age didn’t really mean much of anything.

“Huh,” Yuuri said.

“Speaking of Victor, when’s that surgery of his?” Phichit went on.

“Three weeks from now,” Yuuri said. “Chris is actually flying in to help out.”

“I know,” said Phichit. “He’s a pretty good guy, our Chris.”

 _Our Chris._ The phrase sits strangely between them.

“Yeah,” Yuuri said. “He is.”

-

**Now**

It’s Yuuri’s job, as it often is, to tell Chris what the plan is—or, rather, to tell Chris what Victor’s _idea_ is, and make sure he’s all right with it. Which he is. He nearly always is. Chris, in Yuuri’s experience, is nearly always up for pretty much anything.

And so they plan. And they wait. And as the day passes in easy companionship, Victor, who specifically asked not to be told anything besides “yes, this will happen” or “no, let’s think of something else,” tries and repeatedly fails not to let on how agitated he’s becoming.

Yuuri, meanwhile, sits back and lets the plan grow. 

The idea that Victor gave him was elegant in its simplicity, but the longer it sits in the back of Yuuri’s mind, the more facets it develops. There’s a starting point. An arc, of sorts. Different paths that they could take, depending on the choices Victor makes. And, of course, there are plenty of opportunities for Victor to change his mind.

Just as Yuuri’s starting to think about dinner, a moment presents itself. Victor says something to Chris; Yuuri doesn’t catch what it is, but he certainly does catch the flirtatious tone that underscores it. And then, when he looks over, he catches Chris leaning in and kissing Victor. Not a chaste little peck, either.

For a moment, Yuuri just watches appreciatively. They’re so _pretty_ together. The hungry set of Chris’s shoulders; the subtly submissive arch of Victor’s neck. They fit. They honestly do.

And then, Chris’s hand wanders lower, sliding over the curve of Victor’s ass, and Yuuri knows it’s time. Summoning his most authoritative voice, he says, “I didn’t say you could do that.”

The words are soft, but they reach their target with precision. Victor jumps away from Chris like he’s just been scalded. Eyes wide, he says, “Sorry. I didn’t realize we were—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Yuuri says smoothly, as he strides across the room, aiming straight for Chris.

Chris, who is visibly fighting back a grin.

Looking Chris squarely in the eye, Yuuri says: “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch my things without asking me first.”

Just beyond his peripheral vision, Victor makes a strangled noise—and Yuuri manages, somehow, not to turn around and shoot him a smile.

“Sorry,” Chris says. “I’ll ask next time. I promise. But, hey, just so we’re clear, which things are we talking about?” He makes a vague up-and-down gesture in Victor’s direction. “The whole package, or…?”

“Or what?” Yuuri asks.

Chris crosses the few feet of space that have grown between himself and Victor, and traces his index finger across the sweet curve of Victor’s mouth. “I thought you might’ve meant this. You know, specifically.”

Victor’s lips part, and there’s the smallest intake of breath. He is coiled and waiting. He is so, so still.

“No,” Yuuri says. “You’re free to use that whenever you like. I meant—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, feigning annoyance. “All right, let me be explicitly clear about this, so I won’t have to repeat myself. Vitya, please take off your clothes.”

“My…? All of them?” Victor looks almost dazed. And no wonder. He’s spent all day waiting for this, and suddenly—

“Now, sweetheart,” Yuuri says. “I’d rather not ask you again.”

He smiles as he says it, and he makes sure there is kindness in his voice. He isn’t playing a character, after all. He is only playing up a slightly different version of himself. And there will never be a version of Yuuri that wants to be unkind to Victor.

Victor complies quickly and easily, after that first fumble. He pulls his T-shirt over his head, and then makes quick work of his jeans and underwear. He takes his socks off last, and then stands up straight, watching Yuuri with held breath.

“Lovely,” Yuuri says. “Thank you. Now turn around.”

Victor does.

Yuuri steps toward him and presses his palm to the center of Victor’s lower back, rotated just enough that the tip of his middle finger rests between his cheeks. Then, as he slides his hand slowly down, caressing as he goes, he tells Chris, “This is what I meant. This belongs to me. Understand?”

Chris nods. “Anything else I should know about? Just in case?”

God, he’s good at this. He gives cues as well as he takes them; it’s been like that ever since the very beginning.

“Come to think of it,” Yuuri says, and gives Victor’s ass a little pat. “Vitya, turn around again.”

Victor does. His mouth is still slightly open. His breath is coming fast. A flush of pink has begun to spread down his chest, pale as sunrise.

Yuuri reaches down and cups Victor’s cock in one hand, pointedly ignoring the way his husband jolts at the touch. Looking back at Chris, he says, “This is mine, too.”

“Lucky man,” says Chris. “It’s gorgeous.”

Victor’s cock twitches in Yuuri’s hand. He can feel it thickening, slowly but surely. He can also hear Victor trying very hard to be quiet.

“Isn’t it?” Yuuri says proudly, running his thumb over the velvety skin of Victor’s shaft before he lets it go again. “You’re right. I’m very lucky.”

That’s when he finally looks up and meets Victor’s gaze: razor-thin rings of blue iris around pupils the size of small moons. Yuuri touches his fingertips to Victor’s cheeks. Just lightly. Just enough to ground him.

“Green?” he asks softly.

“God, yes,” Victor says. “Green, green, green.”

Yuuri leans up and kisses him. Victor, sinking swiftly into his role, opens his lips and lets himself be kissed.

As Yuuri breaks away, he says, “I’m going to make sure you understood what I just said, okay?” Victor nods eagerly, and so he asks, “The parts of you that I just showed to Chris. Who do they belong to?”

“You,” says Victor, without hesitation.

“Good,” says Yuuri. “And what can I do with them?”

Victor’s brows crease, like he’s afraid of getting the answer wrong. But when he speaks, it’s with certainty: “Anything you want.”

“Good,” says Yuuri again, leaning up to give Victor another kiss. “You’re so good, Vitya. I just want you to do one more thing for me. Can you go into the bedroom and bring me either a ring or a plug?”

“Either?” Victor echoes. “Not both?”

“Not both,” Yuuri confirms. “Just one. You choose which.”

And then Victor is gone. Yuuri can hear him moving around in the bedroom; this won’t take long. A ring or a plug. He’s eager to see which one Victor chooses. It will decide how at least one part of the rest of their evening will go.

“I’m a lucky man, too,” Chris says, low enough that Victor probably won’t hear. “Thanks for…you know, what I said before. Thanks for talking about it.”

Chris doesn’t know everything that they talked about, of course. Yuuri just told him the basics: that Victor still doesn’t feel comfortable seeing Yuuri with anyone else, and that they’re both willing to try Victor and Chris being together, so long as they all check in about it afterwards.

“Yeah, of course,” Yuuri says.

Chris puts his hand on the small of Yuuri’s back, just long enough to rub a little circle on his skin. Even through his shirt, it feels like possessiveness. No, not that. It feels like a question.

Yuuri gives him a smile in reply.

And right then, in the fraction of a moment between Yuuri realizing what’s about to happen and Chris leaning in for a quick kiss, a spark of alarm ignites in Yuuri’s gut. It’s gone just as quickly, but it was there. It was there.

But Yuuri banishes the thought of it as soon as they break apart, because it was a good kiss. Like it always is. Chris kisses like he seems to move through the rest of his life: open to possibilities, always asking but never demanding. He has never taken more than what Yuuri was willing to give. Yuuri knows that. Still, though…

Victor comes back out of the bedroom, drawing Chris’s focus away from Yuuri again. Yuuri feels a sense of rightness reassert itself. The two of them, focused on Victor. This is as it should be.

Stark naked and sporting the tantalizing beginning of an erection, Victor approaches. He holds a plug out for Yuuri’s inspection. Along with a half-full bottle of lube.

“I know you didn’t ask for it,” Victor says, nodding at the lube. “But. Just in case.”

“So thoughtful,” Yuuri says, taking both the items. “And this is a perfect choice.”

Really, anything they owned would’ve been a perfect choice. But Yuuri is especially pleased with this one. It’s on the smaller side, which means Victor will be able to keep it inside himself for quite a long time without getting too uncomfortable. The base is simple and flat, which means he’ll be able to sit. And, best of all, it’s connected to a small remote control that Yuuri has on his keychain.

Chris peers at it. “Hey, isn’t that the one I got you guys for your wedding? The vibrating one?”

“One of the best gifts we’ve ever gotten,” Yuuri says, throwing him a grin. “Now, Vitya, I’m going to put this inside you. To remind you, while we’re having dinner, who it is that you belong to.”

Victor’s eyes widen, just as Yuuri suspected they would. He looks a little bit pleased and a lot apprehensive and about a million other things, too, and he says, “Dinner?”

“Dinner!” Chris says.

“We’re going out,” says Yuuri. “Unless you’d prefer not to?”

“I. Um. No, going out is… it’s fine,” Victor sputters. “Good. I like going out.”

“And may I ask what _else_ you’ve planned for this evening?” Chris practically purrs.

Another cue, perfectly timed. Yuuri takes it. “Well, I was thinking a nice leisurely dinner. Good wine, good conversation. This is our last night together before you leave, Chris, so we shouldn’t rush it. Take it nice and slow.”

Victor whimpers.

“Obviously my Vitya won’t be allowed to touch himself,” Yuuri adds. “We’ll be in public. It would be indecent.”

Not that Victor _would,_ of course. But if Yuuri knows Victor at all, he knows that nothing gets him riled up faster than knowing there’s something he’s not allowed to do. _Don’t think about foxes,_ Yuuri might say—and Victor, who maybe hasn’t thought about foxes in years, will be thinking about them all night long.

“Obviously,” Chris agrees. “But when we’re back here…?”

“When we’re back here, he still won’t be allowed to touch himself,” Yuuri says. “And he won’t be allowed to come. Not he’s earned it.”

Chris looks like the Cheshire Cat, he’s grinning so widely. “And how, O Wisest of Yuuris, will he earn it?”

Victor sucks in a breath. He waits.

“By making each of us come first.” For this part, Yuuri looks at Victor. “Twice.”

“Twice,” breathes Victor, looking at Yuuri with admiration. But the look falters when he glances at Chris. “Oh… but…”

The end of that one is: _But Chris won’t be able to go again. Not as fast as you._ Which is true. Yuuri can usually go again about twenty minutes after he comes. Chris usually takes about an hour. Sometimes more.

Yuuri, though, has already thought of this.

“Would you like to get a head start?” he asks. “You can use your mouth on Chris while I’m getting you ready for the plug, if you like.”

Victor nods, and Chris says, “There _is_ a god,” and so Yuuri leads them into the bedroom, where he arranges them just so.

Normally, he would make Victor kneel. But he doesn’t know how long this will last—five minutes? fifteen?—and he doesn’t want to risk discomfort so soon after the knee surgery. And so Victor ends up on his back, several pillow beneath his head for leverage.

Chris, pants now temporarily discarded, sits astride the top of his chest, knees framing Victor’s shoulders as he moves his cock toward Victor’s mouth.

And as Victor darts his tongue out for his first taste of the evening, Yuuri kneels between Victor’s legs and coats his fingers with lube. He parts the muscular cheeks of Victor’s ass, and touches one finger to his hole. Just one, to start.

“Oh,” Victor moans.

“You’re so good,” Yuuri says, pushing his finger inside his husband’s warm body. “You’re so good for me.”

“Because I’m yours, I’m yours,” Victor pants, until Chris thrusts his hips forward, silencing him.

-

**Three Months Ago**

“So how’d it go with Chris?” Phichit asked.

Yuuri’s stomach swooped, and he slowed to a halt, panting. He and Phichit had started doing this more and more often: calling each other during their runs. It kept Yuuri’s mind from wandering; it kept Phichit from getting bored.

“Why?” said Yuuri. “Did he say something?”

Phichit paused. Which was when Yuuri realized that his question alone had already given too much away.

“Noooo,” Phichit said. “What would he have said something about?”

So many things. The tender and patient way that he’d cared for Victor after they brought him home from the hospital. All the meals he’d cooked. All the attention he’d paid.

“Uh,” Yuuri said.

And then there was the evening that followed the surgery itself. The poorly-thought-out spanking session, aborted at Chris’s insistence. Yuuri, crying in Chris’s arms. The way Chris had washed him in the shower. The way Chris had _held_ him in the shower. The way Chris kept _looking_ at him…

“Nothing, really,” said Yuuri. He does a few side stretches, just to keep himself warm.

“Liar,” Phichit said. “What happened?”

And Yuuri wanted to say something. He really did. Something like, _I don’t know what Chris wants from me._ Or, _I’m afraid I do know what Chris wants from me._ Or, _I thought he loved Victor. Only Victor. I was comfortable with that. I knew how to deal with that._

Or maybe, _Are there things you and Chris have agreed not to do together?_

But Yuuri had never been like Phichit, always ready and excited to share the newest-born parts of his own heart.

“Yuuri, did something happen between you guys?” Phichit sounded worried now. “Let me know if I need to kick his ass. Bros before hos. That’s a promise.”

“No, no,” Yuuri said quickly. “Nothing like that. I just…”

 _Tell him,_ he thought to himself. _Just tell him,_ he tried to insist.

But that evening was still so raw in his heart. He could still feel the soapy slide of Chris’s chest against his back. He could still feel himself being held, cradled, protected, when he needed it most.

“Nothing,” Yuuri said. “It’s nothing.”

-

**Now**

Victor gets recognized when they’re out at dinner. A young man, maybe twenty, maybe younger. He approaches shyly, apologizes profusely, and asks Victor for an autograph.

Victor is very polite. He asks the young man’s name, introduces Yuuri and Chris, and does not let on that there is a plug in his ass, vibrating steadily at the lowest setting.

He does, however, apologize for not getting up to shake the young man’s hand. “Knee surgery,” he explains with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m still recovering. So sorry.”

 _Raging erection,_ Yuuri hears. It may be subtext, but it’s coming through loud and clear. _So sorry._

The young man thanks him for his time, and leaves. Victor closes his eyes, leans back in his chair, and takes a moment to gather himself.

“You’re evil,” he whispers, when he opens his eyes again.

Chris snickers.

“I’m not evil,” says Yuuri, taking another tiny sip of his wine.

“You are.” Victor’s voice is accusatory, but his eyes are shining with glee. “You had to turn it on _right then?”_

“I’m just showing my possessions the love and care they deserve,” Yuuri says.

“I think that counts as evil,” says Chris.

“Call it whatever you want,” Yuuri says, and reaches into his pocket for the remote. He presses a button, and he can see, in the sudden slump of Victor’s shoulders, the moment the vibrator turns off.

“God,” Victor says.

Chris turns to Yuuri. “Listen, you said I had to ask, so I’m asking. Can I just… check on the status of things?”

Victor whimpers.

Yuuri takes a second to assess the situation. They’re in a pretty secluded corner of the restaurant, and the tablecloth is long enough to cover anything untoward.

“If you like,” Yuuri says. “And I appreciate you asking this time.”

Chris is surreptitious enough about moving his hand that Yuuri probably wouldn’t notice it if he weren’t looking for it. A slight change in the angle of his shoulder. A slight smirk curling his mouth.

And then Victor, biting his bottom lip so hard that it goes white. But he steels himself, and he doesn’t whimper again.

Yuuri just smiles at them from across the table, and watches, and waits.

“Everything seems to be in prime working order,” Chris reports, after a moment.

“Excellent!” Yuuri says. “So, what do you say? Should we order dessert? Maybe another round of drinks?”

“I will _murder_ you,” Victor hisses.

Yuuri smiles sweetly at him. “If you murder me, my love, how will you earn your reward?”

-

**Two Months Ago**

“I asked Chris about his visit,” Phichit said. “You know, when he helped out with the surgery stuff.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Why, did Yuuri say something?’”

Yuuri fell silent.

“Sound familiar?” Phichit asked.

“I…”

“Look, Yuuri, whatever happened—”

“Nothing happened,” Yuuri said.

 _“Whatever happened,_ did you at least tell Victor about it? Instead of bottling it all up like you always do?”

“Of course I did,” said Yuuri, affronted. Which he shouldn’t have been, probably, because the truth was that he _hadn’t_ told Victor about it. Sure, he’d told Victor the _facts_ of what had happened. The spanking. The crying. The feelings of guilt and anger and helplessness.

He just hadn’t told Victor the things that _weren’t_ facts yet. Or rather, not _confirmed_ facts. Because, well, why waste Victor’s time, when he might still be wrong?

“Ah-ha,” said Phichit. “So there _was_ something.”

“Phichit. Stop. Please, just—”

“Okay, okay,” Phichit said, sounding unusually serious. “But just tell me one thing first. Is he treating you okay?”

“Who, Chris?”

“Obviously Chris.”

Suddenly, Yuuri wanted to cry. Phichit was worrying about him. About _Yuuri._ He had it so wrong. He had it utterly backwards.

Chris deserved so much better than this.

“Yeah,” said Yuuri, willing his voice not to shake. “He’s okay. He’s great.”

-

**Now**

As soon as Yuuri unlocks the door, Victor stumbles into the hallway, strips off his coat, and starts tearing at his pants like they’re scalding him. “I am going to _die,”_ he says. “Please, Yuuri…”

“Hush, sweetheart,” Yuuri says, following behind him. “Sorry, Chris, you were about to say something?”

Chris laughs softly. “I’m wondering if I should be offended, that’s all. Has he shown it to _everyone_ except me?”

“Probably,” Yuuri says, as he begins to remove his coat and scarf. “I thought it was step one in becoming his friend. Or, not even step one. It’s like an initiation rite.”

“Yuuri,” Victor says. He leans against the wall of the entryway, like he can’t fully hold his own weight any longer. His clothes are in a haphazard pile on the rug at his feet. His cock hangs, fat and dark, between his legs. He looks so desperate, and so gorgeous. “Please. Please.”

The buzz of the vibrator is barely audible, muffled as it is by Victor’s body. But it’s there.

“I mean, I liked those songs he skated to,” Chris says. “The year you and Vitya got together? I’d probably like the movie, too.”

“Movies, plural,” Yuuri says. “They made _five_ of them.”

“Whoa,” Chris says, and then reaches for Yuuri’s coat. “Here, I’ll hang that up for you.”

“The first one’s the only one worth watching,” says Yuuri. “Phichit makes a pretty good argument for the second one, but three through five? Don’t even bother, unless you’re a really big fan of watching actors humiliate themselves.”

Two fingers tuck themselves into the front of Yuuri’s jeans. “Just let me touch,” Victor whispers, his mouth so close to Yuuri’s ear, his voice so close to breaking. “Just for a second. It’s been hours. Please.”

His free hand is inches away from his cock, and as Yuuri watches, he balls it into a fist, like that’s the only way he can keep from touching himself.

“It isn’t yours to touch, sweetheart,” Yuuri says seriously, and reaches into his pocket to click a button on the remote. The vibrator kicks up to the next setting, making Victor jolt and groan. “It’s mine. And I’ll share when you’ve earned it.”

“It’s even prettier like this,” Chris chimes in. He’s hung up his coat, now, and removed his shoes, and he approaches Victor, bending down for a closer look. “Look. It’s leaking. May I taste?” he adds, reaching an index finger out, looking at Yuuri.

Yuuri nods, and Chris swipes his finger swiftly across the head of Victor’s cock, and Victor convulses, curling in on himself, clutching Yuuri’s waistband like a lifeline as he says, “Oh god, oh fuck, oh god…”

Chris brings his finger to his mouth, sighing as he licks the drop of liquid away. “Mmm. Hope I get more of _that_ later.”

“You can have more now,” Victor says shakily, which makes Chris laugh. “Yuuri, please, let me earn it, please…” Those same two fingers are burrowing deeper into Yuuri’s jeans, now, and they’re joined by Victor’s other hand, fumbling open the button of Yuuri’s fly, and grasping for the zipper. Victor sinks to his knees as he pulls Yuuri’s jeans down, together with his underwear, and he doesn’t even bother trying to take them all the way off. Just leaves them bunched artlessly around Yuuri’s knees as he surges forward, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin of Yuuri’s abdomen, his thighs, his cock—

 _“Ah,”_ Yuuri groans, as he is suddenly enveloped in a flash flood of wet, sucking heat. “Ah, yes, _no,_ slower, slower…”

Yuuri has spent the whole night, so far, ignoring the low and steady hum of his own arousal. And it’s been easy to do. He had a scene to set, a part to play. He had to make sure Victor was all right, that Chris was having fun, that they didn’t forget to pay the bill before leaving the restaurant. So many things to think about. So many distractions.

And now, all of them gone.

Yuuri lets his head tip back and his eyes flutter closed, and he sways—but finds himself caught by a pair of strong, safe, familiar arms, wrapping tightly around him.

One of Chris’s hands comes to rest on Yuuri’s stomach; the other, on his heart. Chris’s chest is warm against Yuuri’s back, and Chris’s chin settles on Yuuri’s left shoulder, and Chris’s voice says, “Perfect.”

Yuuri feels, just for a moment, a tiny curl of guilt. But it’s quiet, easily dismissed, especially in the face of everything else he feels. Desire, thrumming through his legs, clutching at his heart. A rush of blood, filling him, thickening him inside Victor’s mouth.

“Ah,” he says. “Ah, Vitya… you…”

But words are lost to him, and so he settles for clutching at Victor’s fine, soft hair, hoping that his hands will say what his mouth no longer can.

“That’s it,” Chris murmurs, and his hips shift, and Yuuri can feel that he’s hard again. “That’s it, beautiful,” he says, and Yuuri agrees, Victor is so beautiful. “Perfect, perfect,” he says, “just let go, we’ve got you, I’ve got you,” and, _oh,_ he’s talking to Yuuri. Not Victor.

Yuuri breathes deeply, eyes still fixed on Victor’s bobbing head, hands still clutching at his messy silver hair. He can see himself, thick and dark, disappearing over and over again into Victor’s mouth.

“Perfect,” he echoes—and that’s when Victor looks up. Blue eyes, gleaming hungrily up at him, silently pleading.

Victor pulls off, just for a moment. Just long enough to whisper, “Yuuri,” before he takes the head of Yuuri’s cock in his mouth again.

Just the head, this time. His lips suckle, his tongue swirls and teases, and all at once, Yuuri’s vision goes white at the edges, and fire barrels through him, and he doesn’t try to hold himself back. Doesn’t try to keep himself from crying out, doesn’t try to keep himself from thrusting, violently, over and over again, into Victor’s waiting mouth.

Victor just grasps at his hips and lets himself be taken along for the ride. He sways with the motion of Yuuri’s hips, and when Yuuri explodes, he swallows and swallows and swallows.

-

**Five Weeks Ago**

“You know,” Phichit said, “of the two of us, I am not the one who should be studying to become a sports psychologist.”

Yuuri frowned at the phone, even though this was not a video call and Phichit couldn’t see him. “As in, I should be one?”

“Think about it,” said Phichit. “The whole job is listening to other people talk about their feelings and their lives, and never telling them anything about your own.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. This again. “I told you, things are going fine.”

“ _Fine_ tells me nothing,” Phichit said. “ _Fine_ is a stupid word that lacks any kind of nuance, and is probably a lie.”

“Fine means fine, okay?”

“Sure it does.”

“God, this is like being your roommate all over again,” Yuuri said. “It’s none of your business, Phichit. None. Of your. Business.”

On the other end of the line, Phichit was quiet.

Yuuri shut his eyes and sighed. “Sorry.”

“Mmhmm,” said Phichit. “Listen, I have to go, okay?”

“Phichit—”

“I’ll talk to you next week.”

And he hung up.

-

**Now**

The muffled buzz of a vibrator. The touch of two hands, one on his chest and one on his stomach, warm through his shirt. Two more hands, firmly holding his bare hips. Another convulsion shakes him, but it’s weaker than before and, slowly, Yuuri comes back to himself.

He opens his eyes. He is lightheaded, and he is still standing in the entryway of his own apartment. They haven’t yet made it farther inside. His knees are weak, and Chris is holding him up, and there is Victor, precious Victor, sitting back on his heels, fingernails digging viciously into the bare skin of his thighs.

“Please,” he whispers. “If I even move, I won’t...”

 _I won’t be able to stop myself,_ Yuuri thinks.

He focuses. He straightens himself up. “My, ah, my pocket. The left one. The remote.”

Victor dives for Yuuri’s jeans, which are still bunched around his knees, and digs for the little remote. He finds it and offers it to Yuuri, a supplicant with pure, unfettered need written in every taut line of his face. “Please. Please.”

Yuuri takes it from him and presses a button, moving the vibrator up to the next setting. And then the next after that.

A jagged cry rips itself from Victor’s throat, and his eyes screw shut, and then he’s folding over onto himself, clutching desperately at his knees, saying, “No, no, no, nonononoYuuristopstop, I can’t I can’t I can’t—”

This time, Yuuri holds the button down until the vibrator shuts off completely.

“God,” Victor says. “Oh god. I’m gonna, I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not,” Yuuri tells him. Twisting out of Chris’s arms, he yanks his pants back up, drops to his knees, and puts his hands on Victor’s back. “You can do this. You can control yourself. Just breathe.”

Victor does. Victor breathes.

“Green?” Yuuri asks.

Victor is shivering and shaking under Yuuri’s hands, and every muscle in his back is so very tight, but he whispers, “Green.”

He is amazing. Victor is beyond amazing. Yuuri, in his position, probably would have given up by now. He probably would have let himself come, permission or no. The least he can do for Victor, now, is to give him some downtime. Edging him to the point of tears is one thing; edging him without any relief in between is unsustainable.

“Good,” Yuuri says, and begins to knee his way around his husband. “You’re so good. I’m so proud of you.” His hands move firmly down the expanse of Victor’s back, toward the clenched cheeks of his ass. “I’m going to take this out now,” he says, tapping the base of the plug. “You’ve been so good, keeping it inside all this time.” He removes it slowly, carefully, mindful of what seems to give Victor relief and what seems to agitate him even more.

Victor lets out a broken moan as the plug comes free. His hole clenches down on nothing, and Yuuri can’t help himself; he touches his free hand to the sensitive ring of muscle, softly rubbing before he withdraws it again. “Shh,” he says. “You’re so good. You’re perfect. Don’t worry, you won’t have to be empty for long. Can you get up?”

Chris, who has been utterly silent for all of this, squats down and holds out his hand for Victor to take.

“No,” Victor murmurs.

“Vitya,” says Yuuri sternly. “I know you can get up. Come on. Let Chris take you into the bedroom while I wash this, okay?”

He looks over, then, and meets Chris’s eyes. They are bright and luminous and overflowing with fondness; he smiles at Yuuri. They are co-conspirators tonight. Two instruments working in harmony for Victor’s pleasure. Just how Yuuri likes it.

“Come on, lovely,” says Chris, and rubs his hand over Victor’s white-knuckled fist. “You’re shivering, and it’s warmer in the bedroom.”

This, finally, seems to work. Victor uncurls slowly, carefully, and lets Chris pull him to his feet. The muscles of his ass and calves contract visibly as he tries to hold himself in check. Yuuri can’t see his face.

“Good,” Chris says, and squeezes briefly at Victor’s waist. “God, you’re delicious. Just _look_ at you.”

“Touch me,” Victor says.

Chris looks down at Yuuri. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, from his perch on the rug. “But not the parts of him that belong to me.”

“Sorry, Vitya,” Chris says. “You know the rules.”

“At least kiss me.” Victor’s voice is high and thin, now. Need has stripped him of anything else. “He said you could use my mouth whenever you wanted.”

Chris lets out a low rumble of a laugh. “Let’s get you into the bedroom,” he says, wrapping a friendly, almost casual arm around Victor’s shoulders, “and then we’ll see.”

So Victor lets himself be led away, past Yuuri, through the living room, and beyond. Yuuri sees, as he goes, the careful control he has of each of his limbs. The stilted, almost robotic way that he moves. The deep red jut of his fattened cock, so hard that it barely even bobs as he walks. The single-minded focus on his face, like the whole rest of the world has fallen away.

Yuuri breathes out, slow and steady. He gets up and goes to the guest bathroom, so that he can give the plug at least a cursory wash before joining Chris and Victor in the bedroom. He’ll feel better if he takes care of it now.

A twist of the tap. A single pump of soap into the waiting palm of his hand. Yuuri hopes they’re kissing by now. He takes the soap, and rubs it methodically over the plug’s surface, and he’ll give it a more thorough cleaning later, but this is fine for now, and he wonders if Victor is begging Chris to touch him, to break the rules.

He wonders if Chris _would_ break the rules. It doesn’t really matter, after all. It’s only a game.

Or. Well.

It is, and it isn’t.

 _That makes no sense,_ Yuuri tells himself with a shake of his head. He turns the tap off, sets the plug aside, and heads for the bedroom.

-

**Four Weeks Ago**

Draft number one, unsent:

_Hey, Phichit,_

_I’m sorry about last week. Could we skip our call today, though? It’s not you, I just don’t really feel like talking to people. Which, hahahahaha! I guess that’s the whole problem, right? I want to talk to you, though, I actually really do, but talking is for the weak!!!!!1 and I_

Draft number two, unsent:

_Hey, Phichit,_

_I’m sorry I got mad at you last week. Could we skip our call today, though? Maybe email instead? This stuff’s better to deal with in writing, for me._

_I don’t know how to be around Chris anymore. Not since the night Victor was in the hospital overnight, and it was just Chris and me, and I completely fell apart on him. I shouldn’t have, and I keep wanting to apologize for it, but apologizing for it means bringing it up again, which is my new Worst Nightmare._

_I just have to stop it from ever happening again, I think. I don’t want to drive him away with all my dumb anxiety-brain bullshit and that isn’t even the real issue omg I am lying and i didnt even mean to i know hes not going anywhere aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh hhhhhhhhgf.liufhd.kfiugedskf hyukih.,fhvdikdoifsl why am i like this_

Draft number three, unsent:

_Hey, Phichit,_

_I’m sorry I yelled at you last week. Could we skip our call today, though? Because you were right. I’m not fine._

_Something did happen between Chris and me. I fell apart on him, and I kept thinking it would scare him away. It didn’t. He stayed and took care of me. I think he liked it. I don’t know why. I wouldn’t have liked taking care of me._

_But the whole rest of the week, the way he looked at me was different, and I don’t know how to be around him when he’s like that, because I don’t feel_

Draft number four:

_Hey, Phichit,_

_I’m sorry I was an asshole you last week. Could we skip our call today, though? I just need a day for myself._

_You should know, though, that I didn’t mean what I said. I loved being your roommate. You were so nice, all the time, even when you were sticking your nose into my business. Maybe especially then._

_< 3  
Y_

This time, he presses Send.

It only takes six minutes for a reply to land in Yuuri’s inbox:

_Hey, Captain Obvious,_

_I know you love me. You know you love me. All is well. You better call me next week._

_Your favorite person in the world,  
PC_

_(I know ~vityaaaa~ is yr fav person in the world, it’s fine, I like being yr 2nd fav)_

_( & yr not an asshole, omfg) _

-

**Now**

If Yuuri were an artist, this is what he would draw: The possessive curve of Chris’s hand around the back of Victor’s neck. The strain of Victor’s beautifully muscular body as he holds himself away from Chris, careful not to let himself be touched by accident. The bend of Victor’s fingers as he tucks them into Chris’s clothing, seeking warmth. The quiet familiarity of their mouths, finding new ways to fit together.

Little noises escape them as they kiss, and Yuuri, lurking in the doorway of the bedroom, commits every detail to memory. They are beautiful together, and he feels himself stir again at the sight of them.

It’s Chris who spots him first, and beckons him over with soft eyes. “Come here, lovely. We’ve been waiting for you.”

 _Lovely._ Yuuri breathes against the tension that tries to take root in his gut.

“I was thinking,” Chris continues, “that maybe we could give our Vitya a break. Let him calm down a little. I was thinking that if you’d like to undress me, I’d be honored if you’d let me return the favor.”

Yuuri clenches his teeth and breathes out, hard. He tries to focus on the way Chris is smiling. On his heightened choice of words, like he’s trying to be chivalrous. Chris is kind. Chris is sexy. Chris is _welcome_ here. But Yuuri can’t let him take control of the scene. Not tonight, of all nights. It’s just… it feels important.

He straightens, meeting Chris’s soft, inviting look with a stern one of his own. “And why would Vitya need a break? You haven’t been touching my possessions, have you?”

Chris blinks. “No.”

“Not even a little,” Victor adds, coming over to Yuuri, taking him by both hands. “He hasn’t tried, and I wouldn’t have let him.” His voice is calmer now, more in control. He still looks agonizingly hard, but when he leans in and kisses Yuuri, it’s more sweetness than desperation. Like he’s had a little bit of a break already. “For you,” he adds in a whisper. “I haven’t let him, because they’re yours.”

“Mine,” Yuuri agrees, and as he kisses Victor again, more hungrily this time, he wraps a hand around his naked back, pulling him close. Close enough that Victor has no choice but to let his cock become trapped between their bodies.

“Oh,” says Victor, and ruts once against Yuuri’s denim-covered hip, like he can’t help it. Then once more, before Yuuri steps back. Victor whimpers. “I’m sorry. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri says. “Will you do me a favor, love? I’d like you to get on the bed. On all fours, please, facing the headboard.”

Victor complies, and even arches his back so that his cheeks spread a little. Yuuri goes to him, and bends, and touches his lips to each cheek in turn. A reminder. And then he touches one finger to Victor’s hole, still visibly loosened from all those hours of holding the plug inside. He traces the circle of Victor’s rim, making him squirm.

“Inspecting the goods?” Chris says lightly, from somewhere behind him.

This, at last, makes Yuuri laugh. “Yup.”

“If you want my opinion,” he says, sauntering closer, “it’s one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“One of?” Yuuri says, casually sliding a finger inside. Victor is still stretched out enough that Yuuri doesn’t need lube, but he’s still careful. And Victor still gasps. “Should I be insulted?”

“Yuuri,” Victor whimpers.

“Hush,” Yuuri says, and bends his finger. Just enough to make Victor gasp and clench around him.

“ _The_ best,” Chris amends. “The best I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s more like it,” Yuuri says, and then turns his attention back toward Victor. “You’ve been so good, haven’t you? You haven’t touched my things at all tonight.”

“No—I mean, yes, I’ve been—no! No, there was no touching.”

“Even though you wanted to,” Yuuri says.

“I really wanted to,” Victor says, his voice breaking on the second word. “I need—Yuuri, please—I _need…”_

There is no end to that sentence. That’s the whole thing. _I need._

“I know.” Yuuri pulls his finger out, then leans in to spread Victor’s cheeks wide. He presses his mouth to Victor’s hole: a quick kiss before he draws back again. “Remind me one more time, Vitya: Who does this belong to?”

“You,” says Victor, high and shaky. “You, you.”

“Good,” Yuuri says. “And I want you to remember that, because here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to give it to Chris. Just for the rest of tonight, of course, but it’s still a gift. From me, to him. That means it’s his to use as he pleases. Do you understand?”

“Mmhmm,” says Victor. And then, quietly, even though Yuuri hasn’t asked, “Green.”

Yuuri snakes his hand around his husband’s body, wrapping his hand so suddenly, so firmly around Victor’s cock that he bucks and cries out.

“But this?” Yuuri hisses, straight into Victor’s ear. “I’m keeping this for myself. It’s mine. Nobody else can have it tonight. Not you. Not Chris. Only me.”

“Only you,” Victor says, as the shivers start up again. His cock twitches in Yuuri’s hand, and the desperation there is palpable. As is all the energy that Victor has suddenly focused, _again,_ on holding himself in check. “Yuuri, I’m, I’m, I can’t—”

He can’t, he says, but he _does._ And Yuuri feels drunk on this: the sensation of Victor submitting to him, mind and body together. The knowledge that he is allowed to do this—to put the pettiest, most possessive part of himself on display _where other people can see it_ —and he will be accepted and obeyed. It makes him feel reckless. It makes him bend his head down and sink his teeth into the flesh and muscle of Victor’s shoulder. Not too hard, of course. But enough for Victor to buck and writhe and say his name in that breathless, reverential voice that never, ever fails to make him instantly hard.

“Damn,” Chris says, grinning as he lingers, stark naked, at the foot of the bed. One hand is on his cock. Stroking. Readying himself. The other hand holds a condom, still in its wrapper.

When did he get a condom?

When did he take his clothes off, even?

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Yuuri takes Victor by the hair and maneuvers his head upward, so he can see his eyes.

“Chris is going to use my gift in any way he chooses,” Yuuri tells him. “And while he’s doing that, you are going to give me your mouth again. You are going to make me come.”

“And then…” Victor trails off hopefully.

“Yes,” Yuuri whispers, just before he leans in to claim Victor’s mouth with his own. _“And then.”_

-

**Three Weeks Ago**

“Yuuri! I’m so glad you called I’m so glad I’m so glad because I have to tell you. I _have_ to. It finally happened.” Phichit paused for breath. “Also, hi and how are you.”

“Uh, good,” Yuuri said, barely containing his laughter. “What finally happened?”

“Me,” said Phichit. “And Chris. And Morgan. _All together.”_

Morgan. Right. The sexy tree person from Phichit’s program in Detroit.

“Ooh,” said Yuuri.

“Oh, it was so good,” Phichit said with a sigh. “They totally love each other, and I got to _watch_ and holy _shit_ the sight of Chris Giacometti eating pussy, I can’t even…”

And Phichit kept going, detail after detail after detail, and Yuuri let it wash over him. Descriptions of hands and tongues and who did what to whom. He listened. He really did. But overshadowing it all was _They totally love each other._

Why, why, why did people insist on throwing that word around so carelessly? Not to mention _how?_

“…and then it was me and Morgan, kissing _around Chris’s dick,_ and, I swear to god, Yuuri, have you ever _tried_ that?”

“Well, not exactly, but—” Yuuri cut himself off, horrified at what he’d almost said. Out loud. To another human being who was not Victor.

“But…?”

Yuuri clamped his teeth around his bottom lip. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Yuuriiiiiii,” Phichit said.

He couldn’t… but he kind of wanted to. Something had been shaken loose inside him after their phone call two weeks ago. Phichit was right. Yuuri needed to open up more.

“It’s not exactly… we’ve… we _have_ done that? With two mouths, I mean?” Yuuri’s face was hotter than the surface of the sun. He made himself keep talking. “But I haven’t, um… I’ve never been, um. It’s always been _their_ mouths. Chris and Victor. Together.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit breathed. “Yuuri, my precious perfect beautiful glorious son—”

“Oh my god, will you _stop—”_

“—this is the best piece of information I have ever received. Ever. In my entire life. You have to tell me more. What else do you make them do?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t _make_ them…”

This time, he trailed off not because he was embarrassed—although that was also true—but because it was a lie.

“I mean. I mean, I _kind_ of make them do… stuff? Sometimes? But it’s because Victor likes me to, and Chris is—why are you laughing?”

“Sorry!” Phichit said. “Sorry, it’s just, wow, I’ve been trying to get you to talk about this stuff for _literal centuries,_ and it’s been radio silence, radio silence, radio silence, and then, bam! Windfall!”

Yuuri screwed his eyes shut. He was grinning, though; he couldn’t help it. “Shut up,” he muttered. “I’m never telling you anything again.”

“Ohhh, we’ll see about that.”

-

**Now**

Yuuri didn’t plan on edging Victor so harshly tonight. Edging wasn’t even a part of Victor’s original idea. But once Chris suggested starting the scene and then making Victor wait through dinner before ending it, Yuuri’s brain grabbed hold of the idea and refused to let go.

He made Victor choose between a plug and a ring, effectly deciding which part of his anatomy Yuuri would gift to Chris later in the evening—and then Victor had to go and choose the _vibrating_ plug, and… 

And it’s so rare that Yuuri can keep himself from giving in to Victor’s pleas—from giving him everything he wants, as soon as he wants it. Tonight, though, he did it. And this is his reward: getting to watch as Chris rubs both his hands lovingly over the cheeks of Victor’s ass, as he bends to kiss the base of Victor’s spine, and as he says, “Who does this belong to now, Vitya?”

And he gets to hear the delicate tremor in Victor’s voice as he replies, “You.”

Yuuri climbs off the bed and sheds his clothes. Jeans, underwear, shirt, socks, all quickly folded and set aside.

“Turn around,” Chris tells Victor. “I want your help with this part.”

Victor, who is still on all fours, looks to Yuuri for an answer. To which Yuuri replies, “Chris wants your help, love.”

And so Victor turns to face Chris, his gorgeous dick still jutting painfully out, straining as if seeking contact. Chris holds out the condom. Victor takes it, opens it, and rolls it gently over Chris’s cock.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Vitya,” Chris says, reaching down to pass a hand over Victor’s hair.

Victor lets his eyes flutter closed as he presses up into the touch. “Mmm.”

“I’ve missed fucking you,” Chris says, and Yuuri climbs back onto the bed, arranging himself against the headboard, a pile of pillows at his back.

“Mmhmm,” Victor murmurs again. “You always feel so… so…”

 _So good,_ Yuuri guesses. _So familiar._

“Will you let me pull your hair?” Chris asks, as Yuuri wraps a hand loosely around his own half-hard cock. “Like we used to?”

“Yes, yes,” Victor says. “Anything, yes.”

Yuuri’s cock jumps in his fist, and then they’re kissing—not the fragile kissing of a moment ago, but hungry, eager, like they want to devour each other—and Chris’s hand is fisting in Victor’s hair, forcing his neck savagely back. Chris suckles and bites at Victor’s neck, and Victor can’t say anything but, “Ah, ah, ah,” and Yuuri’s hand starts moving faster, and…

And it’s like he can see through time, in this moment. He sees Victor with silver locks down to his waist. Shoulders a little less broad, cheeks a little more round. He can see Victor baring his neck for Chris six, eight, ten years ago, letting himself be taken and used and loved and worshiped. He can see Chris, maybe with that dyed undercut he used to have, maybe even before that, figuring out from moment to moment where Victor’s line was, always pushing right up against it, always challenging it, never crossing it.

He can see himself, his much younger self, growing hot with emotions he couldn’t yet parse, the first time he came across a tabloid rumor about Victor Nikiforov and Christophe Giacometti. Were they or weren’t they? Nobody would confirm it, nobody would deny it. But the seed had been planted, and that was all it took; Yuuri, much smaller and much younger, would keep himself awake every night for _months,_ just imagining what they looked like together.

He remembers, now, what he imagined then.

The reality of it is infinitely better.

His orgasm hits him with the force of a freight train: a killing blow out of absolutely nowhere, leaving him wrecked and breathless and covered in stripes of white. He can even feel it on his _face._ God.

Something wet swipes across his cheek. He opens his eyes—his eyes were closed?—and there’s Victor, leaning over him, a neat little furrow between his silver brows.

“Did you just _lick_ me?” Yuuri says.

“I was supposed to make you come,” Victor says, clearly concerned. “You said so.”

“You did, you did,” Yuuri says, his voice coming high and breathy. “You… the _sight_ of you…”

A ferocious streak of pink paints itself across Victor’s cheeks, and he ducks his head, swiping his tongue across Yuuri’s abdomen—only to reel back and cry out as Chris grabs his hips again. Yuuri can’t see the details of it, but the angle of Chris’s arm suggests he’s got at least one finger inside Victor’s body. The tenor of Victor’s cries suggests it’s at least two or three. Chris shoves and shoves, murmuring filthy words of praise into the still bedroom air, and Victor tries to strain forward, tries to reach Yuuri’s belly with his tongue again, but—

“I want you on your back,” Chris says, in a low and menacing tone that Yuuri’s pretty sure he’s never heard before. “Turn over. Now.”

“I, I…” Victor’s voice is growing more and more tense by the second. “I’m not sure I…”

“Turn over,” Chris commands, shoving his fingers inside Victor’s body, deeply, without mercy.

“I can’t. I can’t move, or else—”

“You can,” Yuuri says gently. “Come on.”

“Yuuri, yellow, no, _green,_ but I swear, if I even move a little bit, I’ll—”

Yuuri looks up. Meets Chris’s eyes. Chris nods.

They both know it’s time.

Chris wraps his free arm around Victor’s torso and pulls him up, so they are both on their knees. Chris’s front against Victor’s back. Chris’s fingers buried deep inside Victor’s ass. Victor, eyes screwed shut, chest heaving as he pleads incoherently for nothing, or everything. _Please, please, please, Yuuri, please._

His cock is blood-red and stiff as iron, tortured and teased and swollen, as it has been for hours. The head is a leaking mess; the shaft is a web of taut veins; Victor’s balls are drawn up tight against his body. His breath is fast and shallow. A drop of liquid squeezes itself from the slit and rolls down, down, down…

Yuuri can’t help it. He darts forward and catches it with his tongue. Victor cries out and convulses at the touch—and from there? From there it’s easy. Yuuri follows the trail of liquid back to its source. Pokes his tongue into the soft slit of Victor’s cock. Wraps his hands around the shaft to steady himself. Licks the mess away.

He smiles up at Victor. “Say please if you want it.”

Victor’s eyes are glazed with the effort of holding himself back. His breath is ragged, and his voice is weak when he says, “Please. Yuuri, please, please, let me come, _please.”_

Yuuri dives forward again, taking the head of Victor’s cock in his mouth, his lips closing tightly just underneath. His tongue teases, and his hand moves up and down the shaft, and Victor makes shallow little noises as he tries to let go, after a long evening of keeping himself firmly in check.

“Ah,” he says. “Ah, _ah,_ I’m—”

Victor’s noises turn loud and wordless, and Yuuri is ready. He sucks harder, harder. He swallows when his mouth fills with salt and cream, and he keeps sucking. Keeps pumping his hands. There’s more salt, and he swallows, and then there isn’t any more to swallow and he takes his mouth away. Victor is just at the edge of being overstimulated, and Chris still hasn’t—

“I said turn _over,”_ comes Chris’s voice, as soon as it’s clear that Yuuri is finished. He rips Victor away from Yuuri’s grasp, and turns him, pushing him down onto the bed, onto his back. “Legs over my shoulders.” His hips move forward, and Yuuri’s at the wrong angle to see properly, but, “Good, good, perfect,” Chris says, “You’re so loose for me, oh,” and Victor is whimpering, nearly sobbing, but not saying yellow, not saying red, and Chris _shoves,_ and, “God, god, god, Vitya, _god.”_

And by the time Yuuri scrambles away from the headboard, down along the side of the bed, Chris’s cock is gone from view. Buried to the hilt inside Victor’s body. He pulls out, just far enough to gain momentum—and he thrusts again, viciously, into Victor’s ass, making him cry out and clutch at the bedclothes.

Chris’s fingernails have found purchase on Victor’s waist. Chris’s chest is heaving with exertion. Chris’s face is dark, determined, far less kind than Yuuri has ever seen it.

“Mine,” he growls. “You’re mine. You remember. I know you do.”

Victor’s body is powerless against the momentum of Chris’s hips, and he jerks back and forth against the mattress, nothing more than a puppet. His mouth has fallen open. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes. Sounds escape him, but not words. He is far beyond that.

There are dimples in the cheeks of Chris’s ass. They disappear and reappear with every flex, with every thrust. There is a way that Chris’s fingers curve, like spiders, like the claws of demons, as his nails dig into Victor’s flesh. There is wickedness in the bend of Chris’s spine as he lowers his mouth to Victor’s chest, as he finds a nipple and latches onto it with his teeth. As he _pulls._

“Stop,” Victor cries, eyes squeezed shut, back arched, throat bared. “Stop, Chris, stop.”

Chris pulls away, his mouth leaving an angry red nub behind. “Say red, Vitya. You know that. Say red and I’ll stop.”

He thrusts again, like he’s pissed. Like he’s got something to prove.

“Stop,” Victor whimpers. “Green. Stop, please stop.”

Yuuri sucks in a breath. He’s seen Victor like this before, but he, Yuuri, has always been the one to make him this way. He’s never seen _Chris…_

“Fuck no,” Chris says, and thrusts again, harder, harder. “You love it, and you know it.” And he lowers his mouth again, taking Victor’s other nipple between his teeth.

“It hurts,” Victor whines. “Green, green, _fuck,_ it hurts, stop, _green…”_

Chris bites down.

Victor screams.

Chris stretches up, his spine long and sinuous, and silences him with a kiss. Victor writhes beneath him. Chris’s hips move and move and move. And Yuuri can only watch, perched on his corner of the bed, utterly entranced.

Victor is bent in half, his ankles hooked around Chris’s neck. Chris’s hands have become manacles around Victor’s wrists. Victor is caught, trapped, panting, sobbing, and Yuuri wants so badly to touch him, to soothe him, but he can’t bring himself to interrupt.

He never thought—never _ever_ thought—that he’d be allowed to see them like this.

It plays out like a movie in front of him: Victor wailing, Chris biting and scraping and clawing and telling Victor to _shut up and take it,_ Victor melting into the pillows, Chris forcing his cock deep inside him, over and over. It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s violent, and beautiful, and Yuuri doesn’t want it to end.

But end it does, in the sudden stillness of Chris’s hips, in the white-knuckled clutch of Chris’s fingers around Victor’s wrists, in the sound of a breath held, and then a long, low groan.

And then, all at once, Chris goes boneless—and Victor catches him, holds him, wraps his legs around Chris’s back.

For a moment, everything is quiet.

And then Chris whispers, so low that Yuuri can barely hear: “You’re perfect. You’re so perfect.”

They roll to the side, then, so smoothly that Yuuri isn’t even sure who initiated it. But there they are. Victor wriggles his hips, and Chris pulls back and slips out, and he makes a move to get up, maybe to discard the condom, but Victor wraps his long limbs around Chris’s body. Tucks his head under Chris’s chin. _“You_ were perfect,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

Yuuri isn’t sure when he got to his feet. But apparently it happened, because he’s up now, looking down at them, lazily entwined on his bed. Victor loves Chris; Chris loves Victor. Yuuri knows this, and has known it for some time. It’s not a secret. They both seem to love so easily.

“Shh,” Chris says. Which seems odd. Until Yuuri realizes that Victor is shivering again. But Chris just pulls him closer, hugging him impossibly tightly, and says again, “Shh. It’s all right. You have no idea how beautiful you were tonight. Nobody else could have done what you did, you know that? You lasted such a long time for us. You were perfect. How are you feeling?”

Victor’s spine curves, shoulders hunching, chin jutting forward, like he’s trying to burrow into the space between Chris’s ribs and his chin. He murmurs something that Yuuri can’t hear.

“So perfect for us,” Chris says. “You really were.”

He was. He was perfect and beautiful and amazing and so much more. Only it’s Yuuri who should be saying these things. It only makes sense. Yuuri’s the one who created the scene, laid out the rules, set the players in motion. It only makes sense, it’s only _fair,_ that Yuuri should be the one to end it.

Victor murmurs something else, right into Chris’s ear. Once again, Yuuri can’t hear.

He wants to hear.

 _Red,_ he thinks. He doesn’t say it, though; he can’t safeword now. That would be stupid. Not to mention selfish and mean.

Chris laughs, low and sultry. “Yeah. Me too.”

Him too? Him too _what?_

They kiss, long and slow and deep.

Only when that’s done does Chris’s gaze flick upward, finding Yuuri there, still standing over them, frozen, like an idiot. Chris smiles and extends a hand. An invitation. And when Yuuri doesn’t reply, doesn’t move, he adds, “Come here, lovely.”

It would be so easy, Yuuri thinks, to join them. To add his own body to the messy pile of flesh on the bed. He could disappear into them. He could comfort, and be comforted. He could let the scene be over; he could let Chris kiss him like nothing has ever been wrong; he could let Victor be warmed on both sides by the men that he loves; he could pull the blankets over them all, and they could fall asleep just like that.

But Victor’s face is buried in Chris’s neck, and Victor’s hand is wrapped around Chris’s back, and Yuuri just… he can’t. He can’t.

_Red, red, red._

“I… I have to, um.”

 _Clean myself up,_ he could say. _Get a glass of water. Make sure the door is locked._

But the words won’t come. It doesn’t matter, though. This is his apartment. He doesn’t need an excuse.

He turns, and he flees.

-

**Two Weeks Ago**

Yuuri called on Skype that week. It rang and rang, and when it finally connected, it wasn’t Phichit’s face on the other end.

“Yuuri, _mon cher!”_ Chris said, looking utterly delighted. “What a charming surprise!”

“Oh, um, hey,” Yuuri said, trying not to look or sound as wrong-footed as he felt. “Sorry, did I have the wrong number? I was trying to call—”

“Phichit, I know,” Chris said. “He’s in the bathroom. I surprised him with a little visit. I didn’t know you’d be joining us!”

Phichit’s face popped into the frame, then, and he was out of breath when he said, “Yuuri—sorry—I totally forgot it was Sunday! Chris flew in last night, and ever since then I’m just like, hello, what day even is it?”

“Sunday?” Yuuri said stupidly. “I mean, you know. Obviously.”

“But this is great!” Chris said, his eyes soft and bright. “Two of my favorite people in the world, here in one room.”

Yuuri’s throat felt bloated and fat. His worlds were colliding. He knew what Chris’s cock tasted like when he was just starting to get hard; he also knew that Chris was the first and only person to have made Phichit come, untouched, just by rimming him. He didn’t know how to know these things and hear the words _favorite people_ coming out of Chris’s mouth and then sit here _talking with them_ while Chris looked at him like… like _that._

He hadn’t had any time to prepare.

“I, um.” Yuuri swallowed hard. “Actually, I forgot. I have to do something? So I should go—”

“Don’t go! Wait, just give me a second!” Phichit said, and pulled Chris away from the screen. There followed a few seconds of muffled talking, a burst of low laughter, and a sound that was, unmistakably, a kiss. Yuuri gritted his teeth, but didn’t hang up.

Then, Phichit was back. Without Chris. “So!”

“Sorry,” Yuuri said.

“I sent Chris out for a walk,” Phichit said. “And don’t be sorry. Just tell me why you’re being weird.”

“Sorry, I… I mean, not sorry, but… but I didn’t know he’d be there. I panicked.”

“You panicked,” Phichit said.

“Yeah,” Yuuri said. “It’s just, you, me, sleeping with the same person. It’s…”

“That’s it?” Phichit said. “Aw, that’s fine! We can work that out, no problem. Just need to sit down, all three of us—with advance warning, this time,” he added with a laugh.

It would be so easy for Yuuri to agree. Yes, that’s the problem, and yes, that’s the solution. But he’d been keeping everything inside for so long, and… and Phichit was right. He couldn’t keep saying he was fine, when he wasn’t fine at all.

“It’s not just that,” Yuuri made himself say. He closed his eyes and pressed on: “Things have been weird with Chris and me. Can I…?”

“Talk at me, boo,” Phichit said, immediately serious. “I’m all ears.”

Yuuri did. He started from the beginning, and he told Phichit absolutely everything. The day at the hospital, with all the waiting and agonizing. The evening that had followed, with all the crying and sex. The soft way Chris had looked at him, ever since.

“And it’s all, just… I don’t know what to do about it,” Yuuri said. “Chris was so easy to be around before, but now. I mean… I mean, what do I _do?”_

There was a thoughtful pause. And then Phichit said, simply, “Tell him. I really think you just have to tell him.”

-

**Now**

It isn’t until Yuuri reaches the guest bathroom that he realizes he’s still covered in his own filth. His belly and chest are streaked in fluid, some of it starting to dry, some of it still globbed enough that it’s dripping off him. It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting.

He wipes the worst of it off with his bare hands, which he then runs under the tap. He yanks a handful of toilet paper off the roll and starts scrubbing at the rest. His skin reddens at the onslaught, and he should probably just rinse off in the shower, or at least use a wet cloth, but he’s already got momentum, so why stop it?

Why bother stopping something that’s already started—something that’s nearly finished anyway?

“Red,” he whispers to himself.

He should have said it.

No, it’s better that he didn’t.

The main event was over, and Victor was just doing what he always does after a particularly brutal scene: seeking warmth and touch and reassurance. And who was Yuuri to deny him that? What kind of horrible person would Yuuri be if he safeworded out of _watching his husband be hugged by his best friend?_

God.

He looks in the mirror above the sink; there’s come on his chin. He wipes it away, washes his hands again, and—

The door opens. And there’s Chris. He’s wearing one of Victor's robes—the same powder-blue silk one, in fact, that Victor wore earlier today.

Their eyes meet in the mirror. It’s Chris who speaks first:

“We’re not doing that again, are we.”

Yuuri is struck, immediately, by how utterly relieved he is that Chris didn’t bother phrasing it as a question. There’s no pretending that they both don’t already know the answer.

He takes a deep, steady breath. “You were gorgeous together. I loved watching you. I honestly did.”

“But only during,” Chris says. “Not after.”

That’s not a question, either. But even so, this time, Yuuri feels the weight of it like an accusation, and there are words pouring out of him, suddenly, falling over themselves in their hurry to soften, to deflect, to explain:

“It’s not you. It’s not what happened. He needed to be held, after. He always needs to be held, and you were there for him, and I love that you’re there for him, I _love_ that you love him, and I didn’t want to interrupt, and—”

“And so you left,” Chris finishes, flatly.

God. He didn’t think of it that way, even as it was happening. Yuuri left. The scene wasn’t even over, and he _left._

“I ruined it for you,” Yuuri whispers. And then, a thought even worse occurs to him: “I ruined it for _Victor.”_

“You didn’t, Yuuri. He’s fine. A little dazed, and probably sleeping by now, but I told him you just wanted to clean yourself up.” Chris gives him a sympathetic smile. “If you want him to know you’re unhappy, you’ll have to tell him yourself.”

Something tightens in Yuuri’s stomach, and a noise escapes him. He’s not sure if it’s frustration or gratitude. He turns around so he can glare at Chris face-to-face, without the mirror in the way.

“And you didn’t ruin anything for me, either,” Chris adds. “Honestly, I’m more worried that you ruined it for yourself.”

Yuuri shrugs. He thinks about wrapping his arms around himself, then thinks better of it and finds a towel instead. Ties it around his waist.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Chris asks. “You could’ve said something.”

No, he couldn’t have. He knows that. But when he tries to grasp the reason, he comes up empty. The path, in hindsight, is so clear. He could have gone to them. He could have wrapped his arms around Victor, maybe eased him out of Chris’s grasp, maybe not. He could have made it a game: the two of them, fighting for Victor’s affections in the aftermath of the evening.

Chris is right.

He could, at least, have said something.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Chris rolls his eyes. “Don’t be sorry—just _talk_ to me. What’s going on?”

“No, it’s all right,” Yuuri says quickly, as his heart flips in his chest. This is exactly, _exactly_ what he wanted to avoid. “You don’t have to.”

"I don't have to what?" Chris asks.

“To listen to…” Yuuri shakes his head. “You should go back to him. I’ll...” But he trails off. He’ll what? He’ll be there in a minute? He’ll sleep in the guest room tonight? He’ll get over himself and be happy again by morning? There’s no end to that sentence that’s both satisfying and true, so he sets it aside for now and says, simply, “He needs you.”

“Seems like you need somebody, too,” Chris says.

And oh, Yuuri does. Yuuri does. But he remembers the last time he needed someone and it was Chris who happened to be there. He’s not doing that again. Not ever.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not.”

“I said I’m fine, okay?”

Chris purses his lips. He looks, for a moment, like he’s going to argue. But then, all at once, his face smooths out. He shrugs and says, “Okay.”

Yuuri blinks at him. No more questions, then? No pressure to talk?

Not that he _wants_ to talk.

Chris turns to leave.

But Yuuri has to talk. He has to. He said so himself, just this morning. This is never going to work if they aren’t honest with each other. And he can’t keep waiting for Chris to ask the right questions. It isn’t fair. Not to any of them.

He summons courage, and he opens his mouth, and he begins: “It’s just…”

Chris turns around again. He doesn’t look surprised. “It’s just what?” His eyes are a spotlight, illuminating every vein and muscle and bone hidden under Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri’s throat tightens. He can’t say all of this. He can’t.

And he has to.

“It’s just,” he says quietly, “that I wanted you to be together. I wanted you to have him, and I wanted him to have you, and I wanted to watch you together, and I wanted to like what I was seeing. Because this… arrangement we have? It’s about you and him. It always has been, but the lines have been getting fuzzy lately, and I wanted to set things right again.”

“Fuzzy?” Chris says, clearly confused.

Yuuri swallows and tries to will his heart to slow down. “Between you and me.” _Here we go._ “Ever since that night.”

“That night…?”

“Three months ago,” Yuuri says. “When Vitya was in the hospital overnight and you… you…” Understanding blooms, then, on Chris’s face—and so Yuuri doesn’t waste time trying to describe it. He just says, simply, “You shouldn’t have had to do all that for me. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for… Yuuri, what are you talking about?” Chris looks utterly baffled now. And maybe a little bit angry. “You were having a shitty day. We talked about it. We fucked about it. It’s over. What’s there to be sorry for?”

Yuuri stares. He thinks of the emails he wrote to Phichit. Draft after draft, still sitting there, unsent.

Chris is right; he isn’t sorry. Apologizing is just another way of deflecting—another way of trying to coax Chris into asking the questions that will tease the answers out of him. He shakes his head and starts over: “You’ve been looking at me differently since then.”

“Differently how?”

“Like you, um…”

_Like you know me._

_Like you can see through me._

_Like you actually enjoyed the night we spent together._

All of these are possibilities, because all of them are true. None of them is what he means, though; none of them encompasses the full scope of it. And now that he’s here, right on the brink of having his suspicions confirmed, he has to say it. He has to know for sure.

“Like you love me,” he manages to whisper.

Chris laughs, a jarringly loud sound. “Well, _obviously_ I love you,” he says easily.

“No, no,” Yuuri says, frustrated. “I don’t mean in a friend way. I love you in a friend way, too. But that’s not the point. I mean love. As in, you know, _love.”_

“That’s what I mean, too,” Chris says. “I’m still not getting what the problem is.”

“The _problem,”_ Yuuri says, “is that I love _Victor._ I’ve loved him since before I even knew what that meant. _Way_ before I knew him enough to love him for real. I’ve spent my whole life…”

Yuuri swallows; he is running out of courage. His head is airy and his fingertips are buzzing and it’s far too truthful, this thing he’s trying to say. He swallows again. Presses the heel of his hand into his chest, right over his heart, like that might steady him. And he tries again.

“I’ve spent my whole life being in love with him, and… and I don’t think I know how to be in love with anyone else.” He peels his hand away from his chest, and gestures from Chris to himself, then back again. “This thing, with you and me, is…”

“Yuuri,” Chris says, low and firm, as he takes a step into the room. A step closer. “Yuuri, lovely, what is it that you think I want from you?”

The corners of Yuuri’s eyes feel hot. It isn’t about what Chris wants from him. It’s about what Chris _deserves_ from him.

“I’m a mess,” Yuuri whispers, trying to keep his throat from closing up entirely. “You shouldn’t have to deal with what a mess I am, if you’re not getting anything in return.”

Chris steps forward again, oh so cautiously, like he’s trying to approach a wounded animal. “Am I not?” he asks.

Yuuri is cornered in the bathroom, crowded between Chris’s body and the sink. He should feel trapped, he thinks. Probably that’s how he should feel.

“Are you?” he asks.

All at once, Chris is upon him, and there’s a fraction of a second where Yuuri expects to be kissed, expects his towel to be loosened, expects wandering hands on sensitive flesh—but there’s none of that. Chris wraps strong arms around Yuuri’s shoulders, splays his hands across Yuuri’s back, and just… holds him. Silently.

Yuuri can feel Chris’s stomach against his own, rising and falling as he breathes.

He wraps his arms around Chris in return. He smells like sex. And a little bit like Victor. It’s weirdly comforting.

After a little while, Chris says, “Can I tell you something?”

“Mm,” Yuuri says, into Chris’s shoulder.

“Victor,” Chris says, “is the kind of person who… He needs to be loved by someone who has their whole heart to give him. He always has. Even if neither of us realized it when he and I were—I mean, it was never going to be me, you know?”

Yuuri doesn’t know what to say to that. So he settles for giving Chris a quick squeeze.

And Chris goes on: “I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad he’s got you. And that, I guess—yeah. That’s what I’m trying to say. That’s all I want from you. I like being able to trust that he’s in good hands when I’m not around.”

Yuuri pulls away, then, an unexpected grin tugging at his mouth. “And to tease him within an inch of his life when you _are_ around,” he adds.

Chris laughs. “Well, that’s more what I want from _him.”_

“All right, then, to tease him within an inch of his life and occasionally suck my dick when you’re around,” says Yuuri.

“Filthy little man,” says Chris, and taps Yuuri on the nose.

Yuuri laughs, and something changes in the air between them, and he finds himself saying, “Call me little one more time, Giacometti, and I’ll make you regret it.”

“Filthy _huge_ man,” purrs Chris. “Scarily well-endowed man.”

“Oh, shut up,” Yuuri says, still laughing.

“Well, it’s true,” Chris says.

Yuuri rolls his eyes, and Chris shakes his head, and they are fine. They are going to be fine. There’s just one more thing Yuuri has to ask.

“Something did change that night, though,” he says. “I’m not imagining that, right?”

Chris’s forehead scrunches a little. Not like he doesn’t understand. More like he’s trying to figure out the best way to reply.

“It’s just,” Yuuri adds, “I think maybe I was wondering if that would happen. Phichit had started talking about how, you know, you’d both been thinking about the future a little, and… you know.”

Chris perks up like a little kid. “You talk about me with _Petit?”_

Yuuri smiles at the nickname; it’s not one he’s heard before. He thinks about how Phichit sounds on the phone, every time the subject of Chris comes up. He wonders if Phichit has a nickname for Chris, too.

“I mean, a bit,” he says. “Sometimes.”

“Speaking of filthy little men,” says Chris. “And make no mistake, I am _only_ talking about his height when I say—”

“Far too much information already,” Yuuri interrupts, though he’s still smiling.

“Fair enough.” Chris gives a small sigh. There’s a pause. “And yeah, we’ve been talking. I can’t keep doing this forever—renting out my apartment, traveling around, being rootless and, you know, whatever else I am. And what you two have here is…”

He spreads his hands out, palms up. It’s a gesture Yuuri understands perfectly. He knows the inestimable value of what he and Victor have together.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

“I don’t want to move in or anything,” Chris says. “I don’t want to try and be a third husband. But I honestly thought I _did_ want that stuff, at least for a little while there.”

“Starting that night?” Yuuri says.

Chris nods. “Yeah. I guess so. Starting that night.”

“Thought so,” says Yuuri. “And… when did it end?”

Chris lets out a little huff of laughter. “Well, let’s see. What time is it?”

 _“Oh,”_ Yuuri says. “Ah. Okay. See, I _knew_ there was something going on with you.”

Chris sighs, sagging back against the wall behind him. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve said something.”

“Well, you kind of did,” says Yuuri. “Even if I didn’t realize that ‘Hey, let’s revisit that thing where we’re not allowed to fuck each other’ actually meant ‘Hey, I secretly want to move in with you.’”

“It didn’t!” Chris protests. “That’s not what I…! I mean. Ugh.” He tips his head back until it rests against the wall, then passes a hand over his eyes. “God. You’re right. So much for being any good at this stuff, huh?”

“Seriously, I thought _I_ was bad at saying things out loud.”

“Says the guy with the husband and the coaching job and the fancy apartment,” Chris mutters. “You’re doing just fine, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s heart swells at the resignation in his voice. He knows this feeling—the sense that everyone’s ahead of you, that everyone around you is doing better. He felt that way for years, back when he was skating competitively. He felt that way about _Chris,_ even.

“You’ll get there,” Yuuri says, and steps forward again to give Chris a little peck on the lips. “If that’s what you want, you’ll get there.”

“I’ve got no idea what I want,” Chris says, with a lightness that, well, doesn’t _quite_ feel forced. “Although, hey, at least now I know what I _don’t_ want.”

“Which is…”

“Seeing you run out of the room every time I overstep my boundaries.”

Yuuri’s face goes hot. “That wasn’t your fault—I mean, I didn’t know I’d—and I should’ve said—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Chris says with a laugh. “I’m not blaming you. I just…” He sighs and starts over. “You ever hear that saying, building a relationship is like building a castle?”

Yuuri shakes his head. He’s never heard that in his life.

“Well, it’s a saying.” He shrugs. “And I guess I’m… I don’t know. I’ve been going around trying to add extra turrets onto the castle you built with Victor, when your castle is already _done_ being built, and totally solid as it is, and you never know when one of those turrets is gonna throw the whole thing off balance and it starts crumbling down.”

Yuuri squints. “I’m not sure that’s how turrets work?”

Chris rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to use a _poetic metaphor_ here. With _creative license.”_

“Okay, okay,” Yuuri says, fighting back a laugh. “So you’re saying you want… Um, what are you saying?”

“I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to look at building my own castle,” Chris says. “Not that all the turrets aren’t great, but…”

“You want a home,” Yuuri says, because he is terrible at metaphors. “And someone to share it with.”

“I…” Chris’s expression falters, and for a second he looks so, so young. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.” He tries for a smirk. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Yuuri says, crossing his heart. “But… does that mean…?”

Chris tilts his head, waiting.

“All the, um, turrets,” Yuuri says. “Maybe you don’t want to keep adding new ones, but what about the ones you’ve already built?”

There’s a pause. Chris bursts out laughing. “This is the stupidest metaphor.”

“No, no, it’s _poetic,”_ Yuuri insists, trying his best to keep a straight face. “You said so.”

“Shut up,” Chris says.

Finally, Yuuri lets himself laugh, too.

Chris leans back against the wall, his smile coming a little easier now. “Well, listen, building my own castle doesn’t mean I can’t still visit other people’s castles, right?”

The word _castle_ is rapidly starting to lose meaning. God, Yuuri is tired.

Yuuri is also very, very relieved. The thought of losing Chris…

“Right,” he says softly. And then, “Do you still want to come sleep with us tonight? It’s your last night here for a while.”

Chris hesitates. There’s a _yes_ on his lips; Yuuri can see it. But he shakes his head. “You didn’t get your time with him after the scene was over. You should—”

“It’s all right,” Yuuri says. “I promise it’s all right.”

Another long moment of hesitation. “I’ll think about it. You should go ahead, though, and don’t wait up for me. I just need a few minutes first.”

Which Yuuri absolutely understand. He nods—and, this time, when he leans in to give Chris a kiss, he lingers. There’s a parting of lips, a softness of touch. There’s no tongue, and there’s no pressure. There is love, though. Friend-love, and romance-love, and whatever other sorts of mismatched love have grown between them: it’s all there in the familiar taste of Chris’s lips, in the soft touch of Chris’s hand on the back of Yuuri’s neck.

“Go be with him,” Chris says, when they come apart again.

And so that’s what Yuuri does.

-

The bedroom is illuminated only by the small table lamp on Yuuri’s side of the bed. Everything is quiet and still; gentle yellow light washes over Victor’s body, which has been covered with a sheet. He’s curled up into something of a crescent shape, and Yuuri can’t see his face. But his breathing is even. He seems, just as Chris said, to be asleep.

Yuuri turns off the light, tosses his towel aside, finds a pair of shorts to put on, and crawls into bed. Victor doesn’t smell as musky as he often does after sex—in fact, there’s a hint of soap about him. Did Chris wash him off? Because Yuuri knows, from experience, that Victor didn’t do it himself.

He takes off his glasses and sets them on the bedside table.

Careful not to disturb him, Yuuri curls himself around Victor, pressing his chest to the pale expanse of Victor’s back. Pressing his nose into the hard muscle of Victor’s shoulder.

Victor stirs. “Yuuri?” he says blearily.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Yuuri says.

“No, I wasn’t…” Victor trails off, perhaps realizing he was about to lie. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He turns, then, repositioning his body so that he is facing Yuuri. Their foreheads are only inches apart. Victor is relaxed and satiated and, even in the darkness to which Yuuri’s eyes have barely adjusted, heartstoppingly beautiful.

“Hi,” he whispers, reaching out to trace his fingertips across Yuuri’s cheek.

Yuuri’s heart swells. This is what he wanted. This is all he’s ever wanted.

“Hi.”

“You were amazing today,” Victor says.

“Oh, well, I mean, _you_ were the one who—”

“Let me finish?” Victor interrupts gently, letting one finger halt at the center of Yuuri’s lips. “You were amazing, Yuuri. I asked for something so simple, but you made it… It was magic. I felt so… just… the whole time, I…”

Yuuri smiles and listens, waiting to see if he finds more words. He probably won’t. He often can’t, so soon after something like this. Tomorrow, or a week from now, he might find language to match what he felt tonight, and Yuuri will listen, rapt.

But for now, all he says is: “I loved it.”

“I’m glad,” Yuuri says.

“Did _you_ love it?”

Yuuri comes _this close_ to taking the easy way out—to telling Victor, unequivocally, that he loved it too. But this has been a night of honesty. And so:

“I loved watching you. And I loved watching Chris taking you apart like that. I’ve never gotten to see that from the outside.” He turns his face toward Victor’s palm, which is still lingering against his cheek, and he kisses it. “But I think I found the answer to your question.”

“What question?”

Yuuri scoots even closer to Victor. Their chests could touch easily, if one of them just rolled a little bit forward. There is warmth, like a banked fire, emanating from Victor’s skin.

“You asked me, earlier,” Yuuri says, “if there was any part of you that I wanted to keep for myself.”

Victor’s brow furrows. Yuuri follows a silly impulse to reach out and smooth it with his thumb. And as Victor presses his head up into the touch of Yuuri’s hand, Yuuri realizes something very important.

This is not a simple conversation, the one he wants to have. He can’t just say _I want to be the one who holds you after you come_ and leave it at that. What if he’s not there when it happens? What if he _is_ there when it happens, but Chris feels left out? Plus, the whole thing is so tangled in his feelings about Chris, in _Chris’s_ feelings about _him,_ and…

It will be A Talk. A long one. Yuuri is ready for it. But Victor is so sated and sleepy right now, the lines of him soft and muted in the lamplight, and Yuuri knows that the conversation will keep.

“My answer is yes,” he says, stroking his palm across Victor’s forehead, back over his hair. “There is something. And I’ll tell you what it is tomorrow.”

“But did I—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart,” Yuuri says, because he knows the end of that sentence. “You were perfect. Chris was perfect. _Everything_ was—It was just… something I didn’t know about myself, until, um…”

“Until you suddenly did?” Victor guesses, smiling softly.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says.

“That’s how it goes, sometimes,” Victor says, just before he closes his eyes, just before he snuggles into Yuuri’s chest.

Yuuri’s heart hurts. _Seems like you need somebody, too._ Chris said that, just a little while ago, as they talked in the guest bathroom. It was true. It’s still true. Yuuri needs. He _needs._

“Vitya, will you. Um.”

“Mm?” Victor doesn’t even bother making it into a word.

“Will you hold me?”

“Yuuri.” Victor is wide awake, all at once, surging up and kissing Yuuri full and deep. “Turn over, love.”

Yuuri does. And then he feels Victor’s chest, stretching bare and warm against his back. Victor’s arm sneaks under his armpit and around his ribs, his hand settling squarely in the middle of Yuuri’s chest.

“You did so much for me,” he whispers in Yuuri’s ear. “You always do _so much_ for me.”

“I love you,” Yuuri says, in Russian.

Victor, in Japanese, replies, “I love you, too.”

And this is how Chris finds them, when he gingerly swings the door open and surveys the room inside: Yuuri safe inside his husband’s arms, warm and content. They are in the center of the bed. There is room on both sides.

But it’s Yuuri’s side that Chris approaches. “May I?” he asks, indicating the expanse of sheets at Yuuri’s front.

Chris always goes to the other side. He always, _always_ goes to Victor. Yuuri nearly points this out, but it would be redundant; Chris knows. Obviously he knows. This is deliberate. An offering of affection, despite knowing, now, how Yuuri feels about him.

Maybe _because_ of it.

“Yeah,” Yuuri whispers, and holds out his hand.

Chris stretches himself out against Yuuri, not quite touching, but close enough that he can press a quick kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

Yuuri closes his eyes and lets himself be surrounded.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Content warning...**  
>  So, yeah, more about that "Consensual Non-Consent" tag! There is a scene, late in the fic, where Chris tops Victor while Yuuri is watching. In this scene, Chris starts playing rough with Victor (the implication being that they used to have sex this way a lot when they were younger), and Victor tells him to stop. Chris does not stop; he reminds Victor that he needs to say "red" if he actually wants the scene to stop. After this, Victor continues telling him to stop, but drops "green" (their agreed-upon safeword for "keep going") in there four separate times. 
> 
> **Before you ask...**  
>  1\. I've marked this series complete, since it completes the arc I set out to write -- but I may still write a fourth fic (a coda, if you will). No promises, but if I end up doing it, it'll be about Phichit and Chris getting together for realsies.  
> 2\. Even if I don't end up writing it, please know that in my head and my heart, Phichit and Chris totally get together for realsies.  
> 3\. Comments are the soil in which my happiness grows. :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [There Goes Everything](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13465680) by [Sintina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintina/pseuds/Sintina)




End file.
